


Too Much Hope

by VinVal (manicpixiedirtgoblin)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Post-Dirge of Cerberus (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-16
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 58,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicpixiedirtgoblin/pseuds/VinVal
Summary: Vincent Valentine cannot change his past, but can he recover from it? A tale of sorrow, love, punishment but, most of all, hope.Originally posted to ff.net during 2006-2007.
Relationships: Lucrecia Crescent/Vincent Valentine, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 21
Kudos: 14





	1. The Nightmare's Decline

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and posted this to ff.net under this pseud during 2006-2007. Like an asshole, I finished it but forgot to post the last few chapters. I can't get into my ff.net account anymore, so this is my attempt to rectify my mistakes for those that were following the original. If you're one of those, let me know, I would love to hear from you!
> 
> I'm not doing any deep-dive editing from the 2007 version, so there may be canon inaccuracies and _really bad_ metaphors. I will add relevant tags as I go because I honestly don't remember what it might need.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_He’d always had nightmares. Dark, violent affairs that left him gasping for air in the middle of the night, clutching for anything, just_ something _to bring him back from the dark world in his dreams. He would see her face, over and over again, tears streaming, collapsing to her knees with the pain, and he was trapped in that glass case, barely conscious watching the love of his life wither and die from the inside out, Hojo’s laughter echoing through his brain, louder and louder and louder until he thought he would go mad, and he would wake up, bed sheets torn into shreds from his claw, more than once holding Cerberus in his hand, pointed at the ceiling, and even once pressed against his temple, ready to end the miserable excuse for a life he led, always screaming her name. It was why he refused the hospitality of his friends and companions, so afraid he would do them harm while in the throes of his anguish. He’d caused enough pain in this life. He didn’t need to add anyone else’s screams to his nightmares._

 _Tonight, it began no different. He’d hear the birds chirp first, see her smile as she held out the picnic basket, the beginning of his and her downfall, their undeniable, sorrowful slide into the sins that tormented them both now, over thirty years later. Reliving the rejection, the heartbreak, his stubborn will never relenting. Then he’d hear her saying, “Yes, I’m sure!” With her scientist voice, the voice he hated, so different from the sweet, kind woman he loved. He watched in silence as she withdrew into that cold shell, encouraged by the ceaseless laughter of that deranged scientist. Standing by until his anger broke, reliving the pain from Hojo’s gun in waves, the thoughts as he fell to his knees on the hard, frozen stone of the basement._ Just… wanted to help… Lucrecia…

 _Normally, he relived the final battle with Sephiroth, knowing he was destroying her child, although he carried as much blame for his monstrous creation as she did, and feeling that treacherous, deep tug, wondering if he was doing the world a justice or simply hurting his beloved even more._ _What did he care about, by that point? It moved beyond Lucrecia; he dared not hope it was atonement. To live in this monstrous body for centuries, never aging, forced to reckon with his sins, every night, that was his eternal atonement. For standing by, when he had the power to stop it in its tracks. He helped to save the world because he felt he had things he needed to reckon with. He was tired of inaction. Maybe, he could rectify those sins enough to hold on to his time with her, enough to deserve the chance he’d had to love her, enough for the rest of his long years._

_Tonight, though, he didn’t get the chance to face that battle again. As soon as her name echoed into his mind, he felt the dream change into something… lighter. He felt that faint glow, like it was reflected through something like glass or murkier like… crystal._

_All at once, he was sitting beside the pool in her cavern again, like he’d never left, gazing at her in her confinement, her atonement for her sins._ So much alike, you and I, _he whispered._ Never allowed to die because of what our bodies contain, never allowed to live because of the mistakes we’ve made.

But Vincent, _her melodic voice countered,_ haven’t we done enough? Why are we still punishing ourselves?

 _He scoffed._ All we’ve done is try to repair what we shouldn’t have broken in the first place.

Oh? _She inquired._ I had nothing to do with the creation of Deepground. And neither did you. And yet we both vanquished that evil. And we were only able to because of what we’ve done in the past.

_He remained silent, unmoving, needing to hold onto his grief._

Does it define you that much? You told me you were grateful you survived, because of what I did. Were those words so hollow?

I only wish that were enough to make this life worth living, _he told her, knowing he was once again on the brink of that overwhelming sea of his sadness._ I cannot forgive myself, Lucrecia. I’ve lost you. Nothing will change that. _His words to Tifa came back to him…_

Too much hope is the opposite of despair. _She spoke them aloud._ Is that what you’re afraid of, too much hope? That spark you felt, looking up at that sky yesterday morning, seeing the ashes of Omega? Are you so scared of such a little thing?

_He glanced up, startled…_

And abruptly awoke to the sound of soft knocking on his door. Vincent checked to make sure the bed wasn’t torn to rags, Cerberus still hanging in the holster, belt looped over the back of a chair. It was the first time he’d slept inside a house for months, much less Tifa’s. There was no light from outside. _It must still be night. Who would knock on my door at this hour?_ He rose from the bed, shaking out the folds of his loose pants. He swung the door open quietly, expecting to see Cloud holding a drink or maybe Tifa making sure he had towels for the morning. He did not expect, however, to see little Marlene, clutching her favorite blanket, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes.

Vincent dropped to one knee, arms resting across it. “What are you doing awake?”

She rubbed her eye, and held up a stuffed animal. “Moogle wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Vincent surveyed the offered toy. “You can assure Moogle I am fine.”

She cradled him against her chest, blowing air against the pom–pom, making it bounce. “He can’t sleep, either.” She snapped her eyes up to Vincent’s, lip sticking out slightly. “Shelke snores too loud.”

Vincent snorted his amusement through his nose.

Marlene smiled sheepishly up at him. Vincent had seen that look before; she’d learned it from Yuffie. Something much like panic began to clamor in his brain as she opened her mouth. “Can Moogle and me sleep with you, Vincent?”

He immediately began to tell her no, but her big eyes made him sway, just a little. _What if I hurt her?_ She stuck her lip out a little more. _May your dragon god damn you forever, Yuffie._ He sighed, and Marlene squealed a little, rushing past Vincent into the guest room. _I wouldn’t return to sleep, anyway._ He stood, shutting the door silently. When he turned, he saw Marlene perched on the edge of the bed, reaching for his cloak hanging off the chair next to it. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching her as she struggled to pull it around her, swaddled in its crimson depths. Her face and the pom–pom from her moogle doll were the only things he could see, and she flopped back against his rumpled sheets. He pulled the chair up to the bed, and she squirmed until she lay against his pillow. She reached out and snagged his right hand, pulling it until he rested his arm on the bed. Her eyes began to droop, just slightly. “Tifa and Cloud were so worried when you were gone…” She struggled to keep her eyes open. “I was worried, too…” And with that, she was asleep.

Vincent sat back as carefully as he could, not wanting to disturb her hold on his hand. Such an open–hearted and bright girl, so dedicated to her mismatched family, that fierce nature quite possibly the only thing she learned from her adopted father. Ever since he first met her, Vincent grasped desperately onto the motivation she brought him; she needed a future, and he had to save it for her. He saw the same grim determination in Barret and Tifa and Cloud while they fought their battles. And, as their prize, they were able to see her grow and blossom. He studied her sleeping features with fondness. _So peaceful, so trusting… while holding the hand of a man who can change into monsters._

_Too much hope…_

_He felt the nightmares begin again, but this time, instead of letting it wash over him, he felt the alarm bells in his mind clang, insisting with ferocious intensity to fight them. He struggled, feeling his body twitch as the instinct to morph for a fight tried to settle in. The bells insisted he fight that urge as well._ Wake up! _They screamed, and he sucked in a breath, frantically clawing for a handhold out when a sweet, clean scent wafted into his nose, and his demons calmed, just enough for him to be startled by it._ The blossoms, the wildflowers on the hilltop… _He remembered her laugh, that tingle in his chest when she tipped her chin to the sky, lost in her mirth. But this scent was different, not colored with that pain. He inhaled sharply again, clinging to it…_

And woke up, just barely, feeling his body twitch with his efforts. Somehow, he had ended up on the bed, slumped against the headboard, a crick in his neck from the uncomfortable angle. Marlene was curled up next to him, serene face buried in his side, still wrapped up in his cloak and clutching her moogle. She unconsciously clenched and unclenched her fist, stirring slightly. Vincent sighed, feeling the tickle of her fine hair against his face, the scent of her shampoo, and knew he was going to slip back into sleep, his subconscious struggle nearly forgotten, a familiar, gentle soprano voice lulling him back…

_See? Why would a child trust a monster?_


	2. Conflicting Thoughts, Scarlet Morning

“Now that has got to be the cutest goddamn thing I have ever seen,” Cloud muttered to himself, leaning on the doorframe of guest room. Tifa grinned next to him, nodding her agreement.

When Tifa had checked on the kids in the morning, she noticed that Marlene was absent from her bed. So she went to Cloud’s room, her favorite place to crawl when she had nightmares. When she found a still–sleepy Cloud and no Marlene, she began to panic. Cloud, however, kept his head. There was only one other bed in the house. And he’d found, well, the cutest goddamn thing he’d ever seen.

Sunlight streamed through the light curtains into the spotless guest room, bare with only the bed, desk, and small dresser. Vincent lay on his back on top of the blankets, dark hair mussed with sleep and lips parted slightly. Marlene was curled into a ball, top of her fist pressed against her mouth, head resting on Vincent’s right arm, which was wrapped protectively around her shoulders. She was completely engulfed in Vincent’s cloak, one bare foot sticking out. Both of them were positively and completely asleep.

“Who knew Gloom–and–doom had a soft side?” Cloud muttered to Tifa from the side of his mouth, and her grin grew wider as she elbowed him in the side.

“Come on, let them be. You know how little sleep she got because of her worry. I’ll start breakfast.” She grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the doorway. He glanced back, just once, before returning his attention to Tifa.

“Breakfast?”

Vincent woke upon hearing pots and pans clanging from downstairs. He frowned before opening his eyes, his body much too warm, strange pressure on his shoulder. _Marlene._ He snapped his eyes open, recollections of his destructive nightmares flooding back, mental image of Marlene bruised and battered, lying in a puddle of blood on the floor of her own home. His heart beat skipped and then began to slow as he saw her, still sleeping peacefully against him, unharmed by his nightly manifestations. _How did I sleep the night without another nightmare?_

Slowly, to not disturb the sleeping girl, Vincent eased himself up, slipping his arm from under her. He grimaced, rotating his shoulder against the stiffness. He carefully covered her exposed foot, shaking his head, trying to get his orientation. _I haven’t slept like that in… years._ He swung his slender legs over the edge of the bed and left the room quietly, shutting the door he didn’t remember leaving open. As he padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, he tried to remember what had disturbed him before Marlene came to his room. His nightmares but… something had… changed. How had he slept a night without destroying everything in a three–foot radius?

As he reached the bathroom door, it opened, and a freshly showered Shelke stood in front of him, eyes widened slightly, the closest she came to surprise. “Vincent Valentine.”

He looked down at her, body small like Marlene’s, mind too much like his own. He smiled at the way she always intoned his name. “How are you feeling today?”

She smiled her dry smile. “My legs ache.”

“It is quite the hike down from the waterfall.”

“Good thing I had chocobos waiting then?” She smiled up at him again, more open this time, and Vincent was amazed by how much she looked like any other teenaged girl, even if for just a moment.

“What are your plans for today?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of him, content to converse with her.

Her eyebrows furrowed, just a little. How much expression such little things showed, after no expression from her at all. Amazing. “I was going to visit the Shin–Ra. See if they know of any way to release my body from its mako… confinement.

He leaned against the doorway. “There is a doctor in Mideel, who specializes in mako poisoning. He runs a clinic. He helped Cloud, when he was caught in the Lifestream and poisoned. You should see him.”

She nodded. “I will have to ask Cid for a ride.”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy your company.”

“He’s already working on another model, you know. He doesn’t want to be content with his smaller vessels.” Shelke paused to consider. “Although the _Shera_ was an excellent ship.” She glanced up at him. “In any case, I’d better call him soon.” She headed down the hallway toward the stairs without another word.

A few minutes later, as he exited the bathroom, Vincent caught the smell of cooking bacon. Of course, Tifa would make a home–coming breakfast. His feet slapped against the hardwood floor as he hurried downstairs, the thought of Tifa’s cooking making his mouth water. He turned the corner to the kitchen, squinting against the bright sunlight, hand raised to shield his eyes.

Tifa stood in her spotless kitchen with her back to him, facing the stove, which was covered in spitting and hissing pans that smelled wonderful. Light from the window made her dark hair gleam with subtle highlights, her pearl earrings complementing the tresses swept over her shoulder perfectly. She looked like the deadly angel she was, and for just a split second, Vincent saw honey brown hair and golden brown eyes instead of Tifa’s wine–hued ones, her kindness and thoughtfulness making his heart twist as he remembered Lucrecia. He shook his head against the illusion, once again seeing one of his best friends instead of the woman he’d loved and lost.

Cloud stood next to Tifa, close, and Vincent could just see his profile as he leaned on one hand against the counter, head lowered so he could look up at her. Vincent heard a distinct giggle from Tifa and Cloud’s face settled in a soft grin, and that’s when Vincent realized he may have interrupted a moment. He turned to head to the living room, but unfortunately, the movement caught Cloud’s eye. He pulled away from the stove, losing his grin, and Tifa turned as well.

“Vincent!” She beamed at him. “You’re awake! And just in time for breakfast!” Tifa held out a pan of golden and fluffy eggs. Vincent glanced at Cloud, who glowered from the disruption. _I believe I may need to speak with him later._

Vincent returned his attention to Tifa. He tried out the slight smile that had been haunting his lips since he left Lucrecia’s cavern the day before. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Tifa.” She lit up even more, and dear gods, Cloud’s scowl grew deeper. _Don’t worry,_ _I’m not moving in on your territory, Strife._

Tifa ushered them to the table, pulling plates out of the cabinet for five. “Cloud, will you wake the kids?”

Cloud pushed back his chair, and it squeaked against the floor. Marlene. _Right._ “Marlene is asleep in the guest room.”

Cloud shot him an amused look as he left the room. “I know.” Tifa stifled a giggle, and Vincent realized why his door had been open. He shrugged his shoulders, and began helping Tifa set the table.

She glanced at him from across the table. “Shelke left, about half an hour ago, saying she might be gone for a few days.”

Vincent nodded. “I spoke with her in the hall, earlier. She’s going to Mideel to visit the doctor there.”

“Oh. I hope she’ll be okay, going alone and all.” She handed Vincent the forks.

He began to lay them next to the plates as she reached for glasses and the carton of milk. “She’ll be fine.” _With getting there, at least. The rest remains to be seen._ He chose not to voice his fears aloud. Small feet clattered down the stairs, followed by the heavy tread of Cloud’s boots, and Marlene and Denzel burst into the room. They were noisy and full of energy, giving Tifa good morning hugs, asking for various things for the pancakes, chairs squeaking and glasses clinking as they got in her way. Marlene boosted herself into the chair next to Vincent’s, scooting closer until their legs almost touched, swinging her feet and smiling up at him. She had an imprint from a buckle on his cloak on her cheek.

Everyone was seated soon, Denzel shooting rapid–fire questions at Cloud about motorcycle riding lessons, Cloud trying to let the boy down easy while keeping one ear out as Tifa explained the plans for the day, and they discussed Cloud’s deliveries and work schedule and Marlene plowed into her syrup drenched pancakes with a disconcerting energy.

Vincent picked at his eggs and watched the harmonious discord that was their family, and felt strangely out of place but comforted at the same time. Even during the peaceful times of the past few years, he’d dodged from place to place, never staying long enough to feel at home, always restless. And now, he felt more at peace here, even though so many things were still unresolved. _Shelke’s health. Rebuilding Kalm. Shalua’s memorial. Cloud and Tifa. My own demons, still scrambling for my blood._

_A man of walking contradictions._ Vincent dropped his fork, and it clattered against the plate. That voice had not been his own. Marlene was the only one to notice. She looked up at him, pausing in her hunger, with that disarming concern that only children seem to have. He gave her a faint smile as he retrieved the fallen utensil, and she turned her attention back to her breakfast, reassured.

_I have let you go; I am trying to find my place again. Why do you choose to haunt me now?_

Breakfast ended soon. Tifa convinced the children to help her with the dishes, and Cloud headed up the stairs, to review for his deliveries for the day. Vincent trailed after him, catching his attention on the small landing that housed the phone and work desk. Cloud was bent over, shuffling through papers, and jumped when Vincent spoke.

“Strife. A moment?”

Cloud nodded silently, crossing his arms in front of him, and Vincent laughed inwardly. _Sometimes we are so much alike._

“Cloud. You need to tell her how you feel.” Cloud raised an eyebrow, mouth opened to protest, and Vincent cut him off with a raised hand. “Please. For your sake, and hers, stop pretending. What can you lose?” Vincent mirrored Cloud, arms crossed, leg out, and met his stare. “It won’t match what you might gain. Don’t take it for granted anymore.” Vincent turned, hand habitually out to sweep aside the cloak he wasn’t wearing, and ascended the rest of the steps to his room. _When was I qualified to give romantic advice?_ He wanted to laugh at his own cynicism. _Maybe a bit dramatic, but isn’t that how he operates?_

He shut the door behind him, turning to pick up his leather pants off the top of the dresser. He changed quickly, tying his weathered bandana across his forehead to tame his unruly bangs. He reached for the cloak, still crumpled in a pile on the bed, and hesitated before picking it up. It still held a faint version of Marlene’s scent, and his mind was once again trying to grasp the mystery of why she was still all right in the morning. _Have my demons let me go, finally?_ He reached out and brushed his painful memories, and the things he relived every night since sealing himself into the coffin roared back at him, strong as ever, although slightly more bearable. He sat down hard on the bed, cloak across his lap, and discovered a new fear: he would watch Marlene grow and bloom, but he would also see her wither and die, just as he would watch Cloud and Tifa and Cid and Barret and Reeve and Shelke and Yuffie, even Nanaki, return to the Lifestream and leave him alone, never to have that joy, to walk the planet’s surface with his cursed body, tormented by the memories of his friends and the crystallized portrait of Lucrecia. Vincent stared grimly down at the hand clutching the scarlet folds of his cloak, as real as the deaths he’d have to bear, and remembered why he woke holding Cerberus so many nights. As if he could shoot those specters out of the air around him.

_This life… it holds as much, if not more, pain than the joys I find._ The lightened mood he felt this morning was gone. He hung his head. _How long will I be able to bear it? What hope do I have that is not tainted with inevitable despair?_ He stood, sweeping the cloak over his shoulders. It felt heavier, now. He fastened the buckles with practiced hands, and checked to make sure his cell phone and remaining materia (well, the materia Yuffie hadn’t pilfered off him yet) was still in the pouch hanging on his belt, and Cerberus slung into the holster. _I suppose I must move ahead. That’s what I’m grateful for, at least. The chance?_ He shook his head against his thoughts. _She’s locked in that cavern, Valentine. She doesn’t get a chance. You’ve got hers and yours both. It’s her retribution, more so than it is yours, to live without her. What are you going to do with this final gift she gave to you?_ Vincent heard the phone begin to ring down the hall. _Can I do anything, besides punish myself?_

_A man of walking contradictions…_

The phone cut off, mid–ring. Vincent heard Tifa’s low greeting, and then, after a pause, an enthusiastic, “Cid! How are you? And Shera?” Another pause. “Yes, he’s here with us, for now… He stayed the night.” Tifa paused again. “Yes, I’ll get him…” and then a loud, “Vincent! Cid’s on the phone!”

Vincent sighed, not sure of this mixed blessing. He wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with the brash, foul–mouthed pilot. But he rose from the bed anyway, armored boots clunking, and went to speak on the phone, the device he hated above all devices. He paused, trying to reconcile his thoughts before leaving the room.

_What can I gain? Anymore than I have already lost…?_


	3. Gifts and Uncertainty

When Vincent reached the landing, Tifa was holding the phone a foot away from her ear, grimacing against Cid’s obnoxiously loud voice. She glanced up at him, smile fading when she saw his change in countenance. She wordlessly handed him the phone and turned on her heel, descending the stairs. He gazed down on the hated contraption for just a moment before bringing it to his ear.

“Cid. Good to hear from you.” He held the phone out to soften the inevitable reaction.

“Vince! Where the hell have you been! Everyone’s been worried sick, I thought all the stress would send Shera right into labor and she’s not due for another two months! Even Yuffie’s going nuts and you know how that girl is! Needs some man–ninja to calm her right down!”

Vincent winced, just like Tifa. “Tell Yuffie I’m fine.”

“Damn right I will! That girl’s been a monkey on my back, trying to con rides outta me to look for your ass!” There was a pause in his tirade. “That reminds me, Shelke was asking about Mideel. You think it’s safe for her to travel alone?”

Vincent shook his head at the phone. “Cid, Shelke is not a child. She survived the collapse of Deepground, I’m sure she can handle a trip by herself.”

“Huh! I didn’t think of it like that, I guess I’ll call her back and arrange it for her.” Vincent heard him shout off–line. “Shera, woman, sit back down or you’ll pop like a damned balloon! I’ll get the tea as soon as I’m done talking to Vince!” Cid returned to the phone. “Damn woman. Gotta be a boy she’s carrying; big as a house. I guess I’ll see you later, then? You gotta come visit us out here in Rocket Town.” Cid dropped his voice. “Especially so maybe I can get out of the house for an hour or two? Her moodiness is driving me nuts!”

Vincent grunted his assurance. “After I’m done visiting Tifa and Cloud, I’ll be out there, Chief.”

“Good thing! Talk to you later!” And just like that, Cid was gone, making tea for his ever–patient wife. _No matter what I do, you always make me smile, Cid. That go–get–‘em attitude every time…_

* * *

Downstairs, Tifa entered the kitchen to see Cloud shuffling through the refrigerator. “Snack time already? Aren’t you supposed to be out on a delivery?”

Cloud straightened at her voice, giving her a sheepish grin. “I figured I’d take the day off to visit with Vincent.” He put an apple on the kitchen table, and began rummaging for cheese.

“Or eat the entire contents of the fridge.” Tifa eyed the apple, checking to see if Cloud had his back turned. She snagged it off the edge of the table. “He’s changed a lot, hasn’t he?”

Cloud turned, block of cheese in his hand. “That’s my apple,” he protested.

“Not anymore.” She grinned at him before taking a bite.

He sighed and retrieved another apple. He stood next to her, resting against the table, studying the shiny skin of the fruit. “He has. He’s… lighter. Just like I was.” Cloud stared up at the doorway, as if expecting to see Vincent walk in at any moment, although they could hear his conversation from up the hall.

Tifa studied him out of the corner of her eye. “Still doesn’t smile enough, though.”

Cloud sighed. “I’m not sure if he’ll ever smile on a regular basis again, Tifa. He still has a lot of weight on his shoulders.” Before she could reply, he chuckled. “Though he did seem willing enough to give me unasked advice.”

“Advice?” Tifa cocked her head at him, crossing her arms. “Advice on what?”

Cloud stuttered for a moment, before a faint pink hue came to his cheeks. “N...nothin’, really, just, you know, guy talk.”

Tifa turned to face him. “Now you sound just like Cid. ‘Guy talk’.” She snorted. “What did he tell you, Strife?”

“Nothing, Tifa, it was nothing.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she knew Cloud well enough to realize he was lying through his teeth.

Vincent walked into the kitchen, and saw from the frustrated look on Tifa’s face and the ecstatically relieved one on Cloud’s that he had interrupted something, again. He chose not to attempt to salvage it this time, and crossed his arms in front of him, eyeing the two of them. He wasn’t going to step in again, but he wished they would work it out between them. They deserved a happy ending.

_And you don’t?_

He ignored the mocking voice in his mind.

Cloud cleared his throat and straightened, pushing away from the table. “Vincent… How long are you going to be staying with us? If I know Cid, he was probably trying to convince you to head out to Rocket Town so he’d have a good excuse to get away from Shera.”

Tifa, her frustration with Cloud already forgotten, shook her head. “She’ll never have another child again.”

Vincent smiled dryly. “Likely not.” He shifted his posture, letting his arms drop back down to his sides. “I told Cid I would be there in a week or so, as long as I wasn’t overstaying my welcome.”

Tifa sighed. “Vincent, you are always welcome here, for as long as you like.” She smiled up at him. “You know that by now, don’t you?”

He stared down at her, his face inscrutable, trying to reconcile his need for isolation and the desire to keep her friendship. Maybe it was time to try to define home again? Dare he be that bold, when it would be taken away again, if by nothing but time? He could not deny, though, that he had fallen into this mismatched family, of sorts. “I will remember that.”

She smiled again, her whole face lighting up, and Vincent watched Cloud watch her, that slight smile on his face, and experienced a faint pinprick that was something like envy. He knew what it was like, to be blindsided by a woman’s smile, to try anything to see it, just once more. The pinprick became a full pang. _Despite everything I have, I still miss you…_

Tifa returned to the kitchen with a nod, to prepare the children’s lunches for their afternoon lessons. Cloud followed after her, still caught in the wake of her exuberant smile. Vincent retreated once more to his room, contemplating using the day to burn some gil he never used. He sat down on the edge of the bed again, already planning his purchases. He’d seen a plush chocobo in the window of a toy store that Marlene would adore, a mythril locket that’d be perfect for Shelke, maybe just a simple, bright bouquet of flowers for Tifa, something to match that sunny smile. A sleek flask for Cloud. And, of course, something for Cid and Shera and the baby. Vincent snorted. Bottle of whiskey for Cid and a bullwhip for Shera.

He lay back on the bed, carefully tucking his arms beneath his hair. Why did he feel the need to buy gifts for these people? Cloud was the closest thing he’d ever known to a brother; he’d been an only child in his previous life. He let a sardonic smile rest on his lips. Cloud had received his second chance from a woman whose capacity to love was startling; Vincent had no such savior. But he knew Cloud would help him, if he ever got the opportunity. Cid and Shera and blessing of a child, they were the buoyancy in his life, never wavering. Marlene and Shelke and Tifa…

Marlene was the future he hoped to see, Shelke held the key to the past he mustn’t forget, and Tifa was the present, reminding him that he at least had something to live for, right now. And all three of them made up what he’d dreamt about and wished for and lost, Tifa with her never-ending kindness and light, Shelke and her ability to blaze forward, Marlene with her innocence and trust. As if Lucrecia had been reincarnated through them, a gift for him in this life he now led. Was it enough? Was that what had soothed his demons? He remembered the fears he had contemplated that morning, and despite their bleakness, he realized that they had been rooted in the future, not the past. He considered that to be a good sign.

Vincent rose from the bed to follow through with his plans for the day. He paused when he saw himself in the mirror, his red cloak and shining gauntlet. _Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, but maybe I shouldn’t wear something so noticeable. People are bound to recognize me now._ So he borrowed a jacket from Cloud, one long enough to cover Cerberus, and traded his armored boots for a pair of Cloud’s heavy ones. _Maybe I should expand my wardrobe while I’m out._

Vincent left the house, slightly cheerful, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He spent an hour or two in Edge’s business district, purchasing several things for his friends, as well as a new pair of boots and a dark jacket that brushed his ankles. He returned to Tifa’s, leaving her bouquet in its vase on the counter top in the bar, and placed Marlene’s stuffed toy on her bed. He held Shelke’s necklace up to the light, watching it swing and glimmer, and realized he was looking forward to giving it to her.

When he entered the living room, Tifa glanced up at him, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Would you mind walking the kids home from class? I’ve fallen behind on things here and Cloud had to make an urgent delivery.”

Vincent nodded, and soon, things became routine. The five of them would have breakfast together, Cloud would go off to his deliveries, Tifa would hand out chores until she’d walk Marlene and Denzel to school, returning to open the bar, and Vincent would walk them home, keeping an eye on them until Cloud came home. And every night, he’d go to sleep, feeling like it was a little bit easier to move forward the next day. His nightmares would come, but before they could begin, before he heard the first echo of Hojo’s laughter, that muted light would fill his mind, and he’d slip back into sleep. A week went by in something, Vincent thought, was much like peace.

Until one time, while he napped in a quiet moment on the couch, before he lost his grip on her presence, he asked her: _Why do you still give me this?_

_And he was sitting in her cavern again, one leg stretched out in front of him, other bent up so he could rest his clawed arm._ I am moving on from the past, _he continued,_ isn’t that what you wanted? Not to punish myself anymore?

_He felt her hesitate, and his attention shot up to her frozen features. He sensed uncertainty, and didn’t know what to make of it._ Didn’t you want me to let you go?

Yes, Vincent, _came the tentative reply,_ but what if I realized… what if it was I that couldn’t let you go?

Lucrecia… _he demanded softly, unsure of both himself and her, afraid of the ambiance in the air._ What exactly do you mean?

Vincent… what if I…? _Her next words froze him; shock instead of crystal._

“Vincent…”

_What was going on? That wasn’t her voice. How could he even hear it through the haze his world had become?_

“Vincent…”

He snapped his eyes open, and before his conscious caught up with him, he was on his feet, gripping Tifa’s shoulders tight enough to make her utter a small cry. He grunted in turn as she firmly planted one fist in the center of his chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to give herself the space she needed should she have to defend herself. He managed to force himself to be coherent enough to recognize her face, and he loosened his grip. She must have seen the waver in his eyes, because her expression changed from wary to concern and her hands reached out to steady him at his hips. He faintly noticed a smudge of blonde from the corner of his eye, and that lucid part of him recognized Cloud’s presence a few feet away. That same part was grateful the kids weren’t present.

His subconscious, that instinctual element in him, had assessed the new knowledge and recognized that it had little bearing on his survival in a split second, remaining calm. The rest of him, that part that made him push forward and made him torture himself, was too scrambled to pretend. He felt something he couldn’t comprehend, something warm as the breezes in Costa del Sol, icy like the snowdrifts from Gaea Glacier, vast as Cid’s beloved space and as confining as the fitted corners and soft velvet lining in the coffin he’d spent thirty years in. Something bright and dark and terrifying and comforting, edges grating like sandpaper but smooth as Wutai’s finest silks. It began to fill him, to swell, deep inside the root of him, expanding through his hips, spreading through his belly, pressing into his ribs. He found he couldn’t breathe. It pushed into his throat, sealing it shut, swimming behind his eyes, making his vision blur, exploding out his fingertips and crawling across the back of his neck and up his scalp. It made him pant and panic and want to scream, and last of all, it took one of Tifa’s tiny sewing needles and slithered it through the central chambers of his heart, causing every ounce of his hellishly enhanced blood to crystallize in his veins, and for the first time in all of Vincent’s long years, he thought he might shatter in a million shards, each piece reflecting a memory of what he thought he’d lost for always.

When the room shifted, he wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined until he felt Cloud’s strong hand grasp his shoulder. He forced his vision to focus once more, and he zeroed his eyes in on Tifa’s lovely face, Cloud’s right beside hers, both piercing him so hard that he could feel their stares on the backside of his skull. Vincent gazed up at them from where he crouched on one knee, returned the stare of two of the people who taught him how to have a purpose and hold on when everything collapsed around you, how to move forward with your head down and weapon up. The two people that had shown him how to live again but not to hope again. The feeling threatened to choke him out once more, dangerous and slippery and overwhelming, and he wondered if this consumed them everyday as it was attempting to obliterate him now. “Tifa… Cloud…” he swallowed, surprised to find his voice still worked. He steeled himself against the astonishment that rose like a wave again.

“She… she said that there’s a way she can return to me…”


	4. Parallel

The air was so still after Vincent’s pronouncement that the _plink, plink_ of the leak on the tap in the kitchen echoed. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, ignore their astonishment and drown in the emotions that slammed into him, as he had the long years in his coffin, but instead of anger and pain and torment, it was fear and alarm and a glimmer of something he wouldn’t name, wouldn’t allow himself to feel, but was there despite of it. And so he stayed where he was, crouched on one knee, watching as Cloud’s eyes widened and Tifa’s slender hand flew to cover her open mouth. They stared at him for just a moment, before bursting into questions at the same time.

“Vincent, what do you mean?”

“Vincent, are you sure?”

They stopped, stared at each other, and Tifa’s eyes darted back to Vincent as his face went ashen. The tide of emotions had taken its toll on him. His beasts began to boil under his skin, each one clawing and tearing at the others for the right to surface, reacting the only way they knew when Vincent reached his breaking point. Already exhausted, he let out a low growl, forgetting everything except the dire need to submerge those demons. That phantom image of Marlene, bleeding and broken, came back to him. _I… cannot… harm…_

Tifa let out a startled cry, scrambling back from him just as she felt Cloud’s hands on her waist, pulling her away and lifting her to her feet. He pushed Tifa to one side, putting his shoulder between her and Vincent, who strangled out another deep snarl, his claw digging furrows into the hardwood floor. Cloud instinctively reached for the sword normally slung across his back, and when he discovered it wasn’t there, mentally cursed Tifa’s no–swords–in–the–house rule. He set his jaw, disliking the reaction his friend was going through, hoping it wouldn’t come to blows. Tifa clutched onto his arm, breath ragged, hand covering her mouth once more.

The roar of the Galian Beast, the throaty rumble of Death Gigas, the whine of Hellmasker’s weapon, and, most of all, that sinister hum of Chaos. Vincent bit down on his tongue, tasting the metallic bitterness of his own blood, feeling it slide, warm and taunting, down his throat. _I… will… not… harm…_ He dug his fingernails into the wood of the floor, focusing on the agony of his nails bending and breaking, the bite of the splinters puncturing the skin of his palm. They fought, harder and harder, not understanding why he resisted, desperate to be free, and he gnashed his teeth together, desperate in his own attempt to abate the flood. _Need to… control… just a moment… longer…_

One last anguished cry ripped out of Vincent’s throat, and his eyes fluttered, rolling back into his head, and, with a loud _whoosh_ of breath, he slumped face–first to the floor, unconscious but victorious. Tifa jumped, her hold on Cloud’s arm tightening for just a moment. She stepped forward, and Cloud shot out one hand, blocking her path. He knew she simply wanted to check on their friend, but he wasn’t risking anything. He held her in place until he was reassured that Vincent wasn’t going to transform. He had seen those creatures in battle, and was afraid of the consequence of one not controlled by Vincent’s battle aura. It would destroy Cloud and Tifa’s home, and they might die trying to subdue it. What would Vincent’s guilt be like, then?

When Cloud lowered his arm, Tifa darted forward, skidding to her knees next to Vincent. She rolled him onto his side, relieved to see his breathing was steady and even. She glanced up at Cloud, who had come to stand across from her. “I think he just…” she looked down at his face, eyebrows furrowed together and lip bleeding. “Just needs to rest.” She looked back up at Cloud. “That must’ve been quite a shock…”

Cloud, for the moment, was wordless. He nodded down at her before shooing her out of the way. He crouched on one knee and slid one arm under Vincent’s shoulders, the other where his knees bent. Cloud grunted as he lifted Vincent’s dead weight, and when he managed to stand, discovered an uncomfortable jab in his hip. “Tifa,” he pivoted his left side to face her. “Will you grab his gun? It’s digging into my gut.” He swayed Vincent’s body away from his own, giving her room to retrieve the triple–barreled revolver. She hesitated, never at ease with any weapon other than her fists. “Just make sure the safety’s on,” Cloud reassured her. “But he’s getting heavy.”

Tifa reached in with one hand, and Cloud sucked in his breath when her knuckles brushed against his stomach. She pulled it out between the two men, and reached for where the safety normally would be. Not finding one, she frowned and turned it over carefully to study the other side. “There is no safety.” She looked up at Cloud, her face stormy. “And I’ve been letting him walk around my house with two kids and no safety on this Odin–forsaken thing?” She held it out from her with two fingers.

“Tifa,” Cloud pleaded with her gently, “You can’t yell at him while he’s passed out. Can we get him upstairs, please?” He widened his blue eyes at her slightly, knowing exactly what effect it would have on her.

She paused in what Cloud knew was an inward rehearsal of her don’t–ever–endanger–the–kids–again tirade. She gazed up at him, a brief smile fluttering across her face, before shaking her head against the distraction. “Right. We’ll need my Cure materia, too.” She frowned down at the rivulets of blood covering his right hand, but at least she was moving toward the stairs.

They got Vincent onto his bed, cured and bandaged, and as they started to leave the room to let him rest, Tifa stopped at the doorway to look back at him. Cloud paused, right behind her, and they both watched Vincent’s sleeping form for a moment. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Tifa asked softly.

Cloud gave a resolute nod. “Vincent? His scrapes will heal by morning.”

Tifa shook her head, the edges of her hair brushing Cloud’s throat. “Not his body. I’m just worried that he’ll… What do you think he’ll do?”

Cloud pondered for a second, although he instantly knew the answer. “He’ll do anything he can to bring her back to him.”

Tifa caught her breath, berating herself for asking such a stupid question. She sometimes forgot the eerie parallels that Vincent and Cloud shared. Despite herself, for just a moment, she wished Vincent would move on and leave his memories of Lucrecia just that; maybe find another girl to be happy with. But she knew she mustn’t push her own wishes onto someone else. Maybe he could be happy with Lucrecia; he had to try, didn’t he? She knew she wanted a good life for Vincent, after all he’d done for her and the others, and if regaining Lucrecia was what he needed to do to achieve it, she’d help him every step of the way. Despite whatever hardships her own life carried. Tifa closed her eyes, wanting to lean back into Cloud’s chest, reveling in his close proximity. _Is this how he feels when he’s at her cavern? This blissful, penetrating sadness? Is that why he doesn’t ever give up on her?_

Cloud’s brain caught up to his mouth and enlightened him on Tifa’s sudden quietness. He cursed himself. “Tifa…” He shook his head, at a complete loss for words, so he let them hang between them, fragile and invisible as a spider’s thread. He wanted to lift up one hand and tangle it into her fine hair, feel it slide through his fingers, breathe in the bouquet of her shampoo, but for the life of him, he could not take back those words, however true they were for Vincent. Although Tifa was inches in front of him, he felt that rift tear open between them once more, and he wanted to climb to the top of one of Midgar’s ruined buildings and toss himself at the ground, because maybe then he’d stop hurting her.

Cloud and Tifa stood together, watching over their exhausted friend, as both of them comprehended some of Vincent’s pain, wrestling with their own heartbreak.


	5. The Healing Power of Moogle

“Tifa, what’s wrong with Vincent? Is he sick?”

“He just needs rest, Marlene. He… had a bad shock.”

“He’s not sick in his body, then?”

“No, not sick in his body, honey.”

“Is he… sick in his heart, Tifa? Like Cloud was?”

Tifa paused, giving the young girl a startled glance. “He might be. We’ll just have to see when he wakes up.” Tifa put her hands on her knees, lowering herself to look Marlene in the eye. “But if you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late for your friend’s party.” She straightened up, giving her a strained smile. “Go change and I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?”

Marlene just nodded and turned to her room. She changed and tied her red ribbon around the end of her braid, and on her way down to leave, she stopped outside of Vincent’s room, cracking open the door. She peeked her head in and stole a look at his sleeping form. Denzel wasn’t sick anymore. Neither was Cloud. Marlene paused to consider. Was he? Or did his heart still hurt too? She didn’t want Vincent to feel that way. She smiled as she came up with an idea. She knew just what would make him feel better.

* * *

_It was his nightmare again, but it had changed. This time, he saw her eyes crack wide open against the crystal that encased her, and it melted away against her hand, as her fingers reached out, beckoned him to her, and he took a single step forward, arm outstretched as if to catch her. And that single tear she had shed slipped from it’s entrapment, spilling toward the pool of water below her, and as the crystal continued to melt away and he held his arms out to catch her as she finally, finally came to him, her eyes filled with light and relief, and that tear she had cried for him struck the water, and as the soft swish it made echoed through the cavern, the spear of crystal she was still surrounded by turned midnight–black, and she slumped forward, eyes closed, poisoned by her prison and still grasping for Vincent’s hand._

Vincent shot straight up in bed, quilt flying and scattering the things on top of the dresser. He immediately regretted it, wincing and clutching his head in his hands, a headache so strong he had to pinch his eyes shut against it. _Is this a hangover? I haven’t felt like this since the night after Lucrecia’s wedding…_ His eyes flew open, hands still on his face, as memory crashed through his scrambled brain. The change in his dreams, the muffled radiance, those words that had made his whole world rock on its axis. _What if I can come back to you, Vincent?_

He fell back against his pillow, gritting his teeth. He knew what his heart wanted, what it had always wanted. He had not lied when he said he wanted her to be happy. But that selfish part of him, the part he loathed above all else, whispered that he’d really just wanted her to be happy with him. And was she? Or more importantly, would she be, if he succeeded in freeing her?

Lucrecia had locked herself into that cavern, he knew. The last time he looked on her breathing face, weary with grief and desperately asking about her son’s fate, he would not allow himself to tell her anything other than the truth. No more deceptions, no more manipulation; they were both full from Hojo’s, years before. And so he told her of things that were past, but not of the things in the future. He would not tell her he was on a quest to finally rid her son of life. So he was guilty of the things he despised, no matter how much he tried to deny it; he had promised her the truth and told her only half, because he was afraid she would hate him. Did she know that now? Did she ask him to free her from her self–inflicted confinement, not knowing the things that had occurred? Would she forgive him? Or had she reached the point he had, ready to simply try to forgive her own as well as other’s trespasses?

Vincent rolled onto his stomach, bearing his face into the pillows, clutching it so hard his claw shredded it. _Can I do something that doesn’t involve the death of another? If I leave this life I have fallen into, can I ever dare hope to find it intact when I return? When everything I do to try to save or protect or restore always involves destruction?_ He opened his eyes against the soft fabric, staring at the blur it created. _And if I attempt what she asks of me, where I do even begin?_ He rolled over to look up at the ceiling, trapped in his reverie, when he noticed he was laying on something incredibly lumpy. He sat up, twisting his torso to retrieve it. His eyes widened after he comprehended what it was. Marlene’s precious moogle doll. Had she slipped it into his bed while he slept? He gave it a slight squeeze, feeling the place where she hugged it so tight its stuffing had been rearranged. It was worn and faded and threadbare, tired by the strength of a child’s love, and she had tucked it next to him. He wanted to ask himself why, why he would deserve it, but he was tired of questioning his worth. The fact she cared that much was enough. She had wanted to comfort him, to make whatever was wrong easier to bear. Maybe he’d do it for Marlene. So what was the means to that end?

He summoned up the last joyful memory he had; the one he kept locked away in a secret place, hoping to keep it untainted from the darkness inside him. She was sitting beside him, and he could smell the blossoms from the tree, and he felt that tightness in his chest as he watched her laugh, face tipped into the sun, and he took that precious second to memorize every ridge and hollow, every laugh line around her mouth, every crease around her eyes, the exact curve of her lips. That moment, when he knew he had fallen in love.

It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to relive that memory that he lost his breath all over again. His heart began its fluttered, twisting rhythm, and he pressed the stuffed doll into his chest, riding out the wave of bittersweet ache. That was what he needed to feel better again, the one thing that would stop the torment. He needed to hear her laugh, watch her face, see her lost in her delight.

Vincent lay back, still holding the doll, and stared at the ceiling, letting himself be awash in a newfound hope, and then began to work out a plan.

* * *

Marlene swung Tifa’s hand as they walked down the street toward her friend’s house, carrying a brightly wrapped present. Neither said a word, lost in their own thoughts, until Marlene blurted out, “Why is Vincent sad, Tifa?”

Tifa glanced at the thoughtful girl out of the corner of her eye. “Because he lost someone that was very dear to him once, and he feels like it was his fault.”

She seemed to take this in without question, nodding her head. “Was she pretty?”

Tifa was startled into a chuckle. “I don’t know, sweetie, I never met her.”

“I think if Vincent liked her, she had to be pretty.” They walked along for a few moments, silent again, until Marlene’s curiosity got better of her. “Is that why you’re sad today, Tifa? Is Cloud going to leave again?”

Tifa’s step faltered. “No.” Marlene looked up at her, trying to discern if it was answer to one question or both, and decided to change the subject back.

“I think Vincent should get her back, Tifa. I like it when he smiles.” Marlene made a face. “Even if he was kinda scary at first.”

Tifa smiled. “I think he should smile more, too.”

Marlene let go of Tifa’s hand, dancing ahead of her a few steps. “I gave him Moogle to snuggle with. So he’ll sleep better.” She stopped in the middle of the deserted street, kicking at an empty soda can. “Do you think he’ll get her back?”

Tifa paused next to her, wondering where this intuitive insight was coming from when they hadn’t told her anything. “I think he will.” She nodded her head at Marlene. “I know he will.”

After dropping Marlene off at her party, she wondered once more how Marlene had even guessed at the circumstances. Tifa sat down on a nearby bench, leaning back to catch some sun, and contemplated not going home. The bar was closed for the day, Vincent most likely still sleeping, Cloud home from deliveries soon. That was what she didn’t want to face. The awkward silence, that feeling like she had lost everything she’s tried so hard to keep together, especially when she looked up and caught him giving her that blank gaze. She knew he had meant those words for Vincent, but they ripped her apart all the same. She felt degraded. Hadn’t she lost a friend, too? Hadn’t they all? Was their loss less than his, because he had loved her in a different way? Tifa shook her head against the bitter thoughts she usually kept repressed. Although the temptation to wander Edge and ignore her problems was strong, she rose to her feet and headed home anyway, trying to gather courage to tackle them with something other than her fists.

Even though beating the living hell out of Cloud still sounded like grand idea.

Tifa slammed the front door, itching for a fight. Fenrir had been parked outside, and she’d thought up a few ways to give Cloud a piece of her mind, once and for all. She was stopped cold when all she saw in her living was Vincent, upright and tapping a pen against the coffee table. She came up behind him, hands clasped behind her back. “Whatcha doing?”

Vincent dropped the pen, turning slowly. “Cloud wanted me to tell you he took Denzel out for ice cream.”

Tifa nodded. Vincent was being purposefully evasive, just like Cloud. “What are you writing?” She peered over his shoulder as he sat there, staring straight ahead. When she saw her, Cloud’s, and the kids’ names addressed at the top, she was astonished. “You’re leaving? Without saying goodbye?” She crossed her arms in front of her, tapping a foot. At least she was getting her fight.

Vincent just looked at her, expression blank, and came to his feet, towering over her. “I can’t get any of you involved in this, just in case.”

“Just in case what, Vincent? In case you never come back?” Tifa attempted to stare him down.

He shook his head slowly. “I cannot allow any harm to come to any of you, not because of my selfish pursuit.”

Tifa’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “And saying goodbye properly would be harmful?” She uncrossed her arms as Vincent gazed at her stonily. “Besides, we’re your friends. Don’t you know by now you can’t do anything alone anymore?” _He’s almost as difficult as Cloud._

He sighed. Tifa inwardly rejoiced. She loved it when she won. “Can you at least wait until Marlene gets home? She’d be heartbroken.” Tifa headed toward the kitchen. “Especially if you took Moogle with you.” She glanced behind her. Vincent didn’t blush, but it was close.


	6. Of Farewells and Rainbowed Heartstrings

Vincent sat on his bed, back against the wall, one arm propped on a bent knee. He was waiting for the day to burn; Tifa was banging stuff around downstairs and he knew better than to share a room with her at the moment. Cloud was taking his sweet time, and Vincent hoped Denzel would not be accompanying him home. The house felt like a bomb was about to go off, and Vincent wanted nothing to do with any of it.

He reached over and picked up Marlene’s moogle doll without looking at it; he laid it gently in his clawed palm before gazing down on it. Marlene, as always, had managed to get to the heart of him, with her sweet innocence and determined kindness. He heard a metallic bang from the kitchen and cringed. Tifa was also kind and sweet, although that temperamental streak in her was deadly. Vincent thanked whatever being might be watching down over them that he was not Cloud Strife.

Vincent slowly closed his sharpened, armored fingers over the middle of the doll, taking care not to puncture the fabric. It had been so long since he’d used the limb for anything other than combat; he knew he needed to learn to use it again. He dropped the doll into his lap, leaning his head against the hard wall. He stared at the ceiling and tried to reconcile his thoughts. He had a home, friends, was even admired. People who cared about him and people who he cared for in turn. And he was going to get up and leave it behind for a spark of hope, something he’d never thought he’d ever enjoy again? Was he truly prepared to embark on another journey, when he’d just begun to find peace?

There was a knock on the door. He sighed, and called a greeting, fully expecting a thorough harassment treatment from Tifa. He was surprised, though, when Cloud opened the door.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at him as Cloud swung the lone chair backwards, slinging his arms across the back with a sigh. “Escaping her wrath?” Vincent inquired sardonically.

Cloud shook his head. “As soon as I came in, she went out back, without a word. I know what’s going on in her mind; I’m just not sure how to deal with it yet.” He met Vincent’s gaze. “But I didn’t come for more advice.”

“I wasn’t going to offer any,” Vincent tried not to smile.

“I was wondering when you were leaving.” Cloud didn’t lower his gaze.

“What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Cloud scratched the back of his head. “You, walk away from that chance, when it’s right at your feet? I don’t believe it.”

“Of course I intend to restore her,” Vincent told him. “I’m headed to Mideel in the morning, as soon as I can say good–bye to Marlene and Denzel.” He raised an eyebrow at Cloud again. “As long as things don’t fall apart without me.”

Cloud granted him a slight smile. “I’m still trying my best. I’m just not sure if it’s good enough anymore.” He stood, giving Vincent a piercing glance. “No giving up, huh? Guess it’s my turn to make things right for her, instead of the other way around.” His boots echoed against the walls as he strode to the door, giving Vincent one more look before exiting. “Have you forgiven yourself, or is this you just trying, at least? Either way, it’s good to see it.” One corner of his mouth curved upward again. “I think I can hold down the fort until you bring her back, Vincent.” The door scraped as it shut behind him.

Vincent smiled to himself. So like Strife, to throw it into that light for him. He rose and crossed the room to the window, sliding back one of the curtains. It cast light on his pale skin, brightening the room a notch. People were beginning to recover from the terror Deepground had inflicted, returning to the streets, opening up stores and shops again. A young girl near Marlene’s age skipped down the street, a yellow flower in her dark brown hair, and Vincent saw that phantom image of Lucrecia again, except this time, his heart didn’t clutch or flutter. Warmth spread through his chest. And then the girl was gone.

_So this is the life I helped recover from darkness,_ he thought to himself, tapping his fingers against the wooden sill. _I think it’s time I tried to recover from my own._ He retrieved the locket from an inner pocket, holding it up to glimmer in the light. _One step at a time._

The next morning, dressed in crimson cloak and bandana, Vincent said his goodbyes. Denzel stared at him with jaded eyes as he crouched in front the young boy, not sure what to say. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of Marlene while I’m gone. I’m counting on you.”

His eyes shifted to the girl, clutching her new stuffed chocobo, her eyes glued to the floor. “Marlene.” She raised her gaze haltingly. He waited until she was looking him in the eyes. He took that moment to memorize her features, unsure of how long he would be gone, wanting to remember this version of her. Something to drive him back here, no matter what happened. Just to see how she’d grow; how the highlights in her hair would fade, how those luminous eyes would begin to fit her slender face, how her pointed chin would blend into the rest of her features. He knew this was her worst nightmare; how many times had she said goodbye to the people she loved and trusted, never knowing if they would come back? “I’ll see you again.” She nodded, her gaze dropping back to the floor. This was the closest thing Vincent felt to heartbreak since the day Lucrecia rejected him. “And I’ll miss you while I’m gone.” He slid her moogle out from his cloak, pressing it into her hands. She lifted her chin again, eyes shining, and shook her head.

“Keep him.” She lifted the Chocobo, just a little. “I’ll keep Choco to remember you, you get Moogle.” Vincent smiled, putting the doll back, and Marlene threw herself at him. Startled, he drew one side of his cloak around her as she pressed herself into his chest. “Just don’t forget me, okay?”

Vincent nodded. “I won’t ever forget you.” He met her eyes again. “I will see you again.” She nodded, pulling away.

Vincent came to his feet. Tifa reached forward, giving his arm a light squeeze. “Call us if you need anything.”

Cloud nodded to him. “Good luck.”

With a final nod and a sweep of his cloak, Vincent strode out onto the streets of Edge, off to the plains of Kalm and the chocobo that waited for him.

The plains were flat and grassy, the winds stirring the elongated fronds gently. Vincent’s chocobo sprinted across them with ease, headed toward the ferries that ran to Mideel off the coast. It felt good to be alone, nothing but air and distance and the feel of the chocobo’s muscular strides underneath him, that solitary freedom, except this time, it was different. There were strings attached to him now, strings that kept him in Edge, just as there was a cord attaching him to Mideel and the girl that was there. If it had been any other time in his life, those connections would have been constricting; he felt comfort in them now, though, facing something he never had before.

He rode into the small, fledgling town that sprung up around the W.R.O.’s pride and joy transportation system. It was beginning to look like a tourist’s nightmare; too many gift shops and cheap materia stands. Fortunately, Vincent knew where to go. He dismounted his chocobo, giving it a pat before boarding the ship with a nod to the W.R.O. guard. Adjusting the black leather sack slung between his shoulder blades, he paid his fare and quickly ascended the stairs to the upper level, where other people were less likely to bother him, or rather, he thought with a ironic smile, he was less likely to bother other people. He settled himself into one of the hard chairs bolted to the floor, and pulled out a novel to read, unperturbed by the long ride.

But halfway through the journey, a young boy burst through the door at the top of the stairs, dragging a moogle doll twin to Marlene’s, except for its yellow pom–pom compared to her red one. He was hell–bent on escaping from someone, and he gave Vincent, the lone person in the tiny enclosed level, a desperate, pleading look. Vincent raised an eyebrow at him a half–second before the door slammed open again, three bigger boys hot on the tail of the first. They didn’t even give Vincent a glance before quickly cornering the boy, shoving him and pulling on the stuffed plaything. When their intentions became clear, Vincent rose and strode over to the boys, oblivious to his presence. He tapped one foot, hard enough to make the armored boots clang against the floor, and they turned around, fear in their young eyes. Vincent stared down at them grimly, arms crossed, before casually sweeping aside the right flank of his cloak, revealing Cerberus, loaded and holstered. The bullies took one look at it and fled like Bahamut was on their heels.

The younger boy pulled himself from where he was crouched in the corner, wiping blood from his nose and tucking his toy behind him. “Thank you,” he muttered, before trying to dart past Vincent, who had lowered himself to the boy’s eye level. He shot out a hand and caught the boy. The child clutched his toy reflexively, before realizing he was doing just what the other boys had been teasing him for, and in front of a tough adult, too.

But Vincent knew what the boy was thinking, and lifted the left side of his cloak, revealing a deep pocket with a red pom–pom poking out. “It’s all right, kid,” he told him, one eyebrow raised again. “I’ve got one, too.”

The boy gave him wide eyes before cracking into a face–splitting grin. He giggled and ran off, back the way he came. Vincent retrieved his book before tucking it back into its pocket, and went out onto the observation deck facing south. He could see Mideel in the distance, a bright green spot against the much darker green of the jungle, wooden platforms and jutting spires floating above the exposed Lifestream. He imagined a red cable, stretching all the way back to Edge before splitting off into three separate threads, and a yellow one reeling in as he got closer and closer to Mideel. Against the cloudless sky and ocean and the smudge of approaching jungle, it wove a vivid pattern.

Vincent wanted to see that rainbow that had become his life reflected through Lucrecia, magnified by her crystal–clarity like a prism. He wanted to learn to see her without the taint of the Shin–Ra mansion, the dark presence of Jenova and Gast and Hojo. Because with her yellow ribbon, red shoes, and blue ruffles, she looked just like the scene before him: vast and untouchable.

_And I am nothing if not a conqueror of the impossible._ Vincent smiled to himself.


	7. Strength of Medicine

Tifa rubbed her forehead as the phone began to ring, _again_. She stared at the pile of dirty glasses and the filthy tables that littered her bar, blessedly empty at mid–day, and thought: _I’ve only been open for a few hours._ She let out a heavy sigh and headed toward the stairs, beginning getting the inkling she was going to be fielding another call from everyone’s favorite materia hunter, for the fourth time that day. Other than the phone’s ceaseless ring, the day had been quiet; Cloud was gone all day on deliveries, the kids spending their time in the stamp of a backyard. The place felt emptier, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

Snatching up the receiver, she instantly began telling Yuffie the same thing she’d been telling her all day. “He’s not here; he’s on his way to Mideel! He’ll get your message once he gets there!”

“Um… Excuse me?” A pleasant, feminine voice countered on the other end. Tifa wanted to bang her head against the heavy desk. For the love of Holy, it was a _customer._

“Oh! Sorry! This is Strife Delivery Service. What can I help you with?”

Hanging up the phone after leaving a message for Cloud, she realized she couldn’t take the quiet anymore. She unplugged the phone with vicious glee and dragged it down the stairs with her, plugging it in behind the bar. She began to fill the sinks with hot water while she dialed from memory.

She was never as glad as when Barret’s boisterous voice answered the ringing. “Tifa! Marlene all right?” He boomed.

She sighed at the familiar question. “She’s fine, Barret; Denzel too. How’s Corel treating you?” She poured soap into the running water, watching the bubbles fountain up, obscuring the surface.

“Just great. Almost got the refinery up and running. I forgot how hard Corel breeds ‘em! Tough as shit, that’s for certain!” He voice dropped, just a little. “How ‘bout you, darlin’? That spikeyhead treating you like you deserve?”

She smiled, tossing the thin rag into the sink before turning off the tap. “Vincent left this morning, and the place seems kinda lonely.”

“And where did that dismal bastard run off to, this time?” She explained the situation to him. “Huh. Well, good for him, I suppose. Yuffie’ll be right pissed when she learns of it.”

Tifa pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder, trying to scrub bright red lipstick off the rim of a wineglass. _Yuck._ “She already knows. She’s called here three times since this morning.”

“Uh–oh. Ol’ Vincent’s in trouble.”

She rinsed the glass, still smiling despite herself. “She’s just mad that she didn’t get to see him since he got back. Might be better for the both of them, that way,” The bell above the door chimed, and Tifa wanted to swear. “Gotta go, Barret. Customers. I’ll have Marlene call you later.”

“Wait, Tifa, you didn’t answer my question–“

“’Bye, Barret,” She grinned as she went to hang up the phone.

“Tifa Lockhart–!” _Click._ She felt a little better, taking care of the patrons with a smile. Only until the damned phone started ringing, _again._

* * *

Cloud felt his phone buzz against his hip, and sighed. Another curt message from Tifa, no doubt. Business he’d take of as soon as he was done.

The young clerk smiled at him, a question in her eyes. He shook his head at her, and her smile faltered. He really was running her through the gauntlet, but it had to be _perfect._ So he gave her the patented Cloud Strife wide blue eyes and lopsided grin and she was just glowing like a peach again. She pulled another necklace from the case, and Cloud focused on her, trying to ignore his misgivings. The pouch with his gil felt heavy on his belt; it would feel undeniably lighter, after this woman was done with him. _Who knew pearls we so damned expensive?_

But then he imagined the surprise in Tifa’s wine–hued eyes, and suddenly it was all right again.

* * *

Vincent stepped off the ferry, the last of the stream of people leaving the boat. They were no doubt headed toward family vacations, excited to enjoy the Lifestream–infused hot springs the town had become famous for. But Vincent knew the hidden purpose to this town; he saw it in the exhausted mother, carrying a coughing infant, the middle–aged man hobbling down the path, grimacing in pain. The darker reason people journeyed to Mideel. Vincent looked up at the platforms that formed the town, stacked on top of and against each other, and saw the clinic blended into the cliff that backed one side of the hustle and bustle. Shelke didn’t know he was here. Sighing, he glanced around the rest of the town in the fading light. Best not to disturb her at the end of the day. He’d hadn’t heard from her since she left Edge, and he could only assume the treatments she was receiving would not leave her welcome to surprise visitors in the evening. He trudged off to the inn, praying they had an open room. He was unexpectedly drained after the long boat ride, unaccustomed such long periods of inactivity and the pressing humidity.

After checking into the sole remaining room at the small inn, Vincent remembered his phone. The W.R.O. had not found a way to keep phone service up over the expanse of ocean, and he so had turned it off before the boat even left the dock. The phone blinked on, and instantly his message light flashed. He sighed, and went downstairs to retrieve a glass of wine before listening to them. Sometimes he really, _really_ hated his phone.

The first message was from Cid. “Vince! I heard about what you’re up to! Call if you need a hand with anything and I’ll try my best. Stop by Rocket Town if you’re in the area and we’ll put you up for the night! Good luck and go get ‘er!”

Vincent allowed himself a slight smile, which vanished at the next message. “Hey, Vincent, it’s Tifa. I was just calling to warn you that Yuffie just called here asking after you. She’s on her way back from Wutai to see you and, well, she was peeved that you’d left. But, it’s Yuffie, so she’ll get over it. Hope you enjoyed the ride on Reeve’s brand new baby!”

He pressed the button for the next message grimly. “Vincent! Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Edge! Here I am, sacrificing my time and sanity to old Godo and you run off without even telling me! Tifa wouldn’t say why you’re in Mideel, so I guess I’ll see you when you get back, which will be soon, right? Because I was really worried about you. Call me back for once! Or the great ninja–goddess Yuffie Kisaragi will hunt you down and smite you!”

Vincent clicked through three more similar messages from Yuffie. He turned the phone off, knowing she’d call again. She was the last thing he needed right now; he admired her endless energy and enthusiasm, but he needed a clear head. And sometimes Yuffie’s chatter distracted him. He stripped down, making sure Cerberus was within reach before stretching out across the hand–made quilt adorning the small bed. He stared out the shuttered window at the darkened sky, twilight reflecting off the high clouds, making them shimmer like a mirage. _Do you not want to deal with her chatter, or the unavoidable questions she will ask?_ He knew the sly ninja; she tried so hard to get under his veneer and then backtracked as soon as she saw what was underneath. He didn’t need her prying, not when he was still figuring out so much for himself. _But she will find out eventually,_ he reminded himself, _Barret or Cid will slip, unknowing, and the inquisition will begin._ Yet he wasn’t sure what to make of his mixed feelings.

Finally, he switched off the bedside lamp. He slid seamlessly into sleep, no nightmares, no soothing glow, just a twitch and a toss of blankets. It wasn’t until the morning that he realized he hadn’t felt Lucrecia’s familiar presence, that ghostly hand guiding him into restful peace.

* * *

When he arrived at the clinic in the morning, the nurse at the front desk was acting sketchy. He didn’t know if she realized the finger repeatedly pushing the silent button under her desk was not as subtle as she thought. So he wasn’t surprised when the familiar doctor came out through the swinging doors with a worried look on his face. Luckily, though, he recognized the intimidating gunslinger.

“Vincent Valentine, wasn’t it? How’s your friend doing?”

Vincent gave him a smooth nod of acknowledgement. “Cloud is well, and still grateful for your help.”

“Good, good.” The doctor spared the suddenly–preoccupied nurse a glance. “What brings you to my clinic today?”

“Shelke Rui. May I see her?”

The doctor gave him a short nod, waving him into the back. Vincent followed him down the narrow hallway, silent except for the _swish_ of the edges of his cloak against the carpet. The doctor led him into a paneled office, and Vincent felt his heart skip a beat. This was not going to be good news.

Vincent took a moment to admire the framed letters from patients, certificates from workshops, and the other medical paraphernalia. _Dr. Knotwood, I believe you have something to tell me._ The doctor sat down, waving Vincent into chair, and Vincent just crossed his arms. “I’d prefer to stand.”

Knotwood nodded, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Her body is very, very dependant on mako. A much worse case than I’ve ever dealt with before.” He met Vincent’s eyes, undeterred by his intensely ruby gaze. “We’ve noticed that injections of the purified Lifestream seem to counter–act the effects of mako poisioning; it is easier to wean someone off the substance we create than mako, and less harmful to the body. But the shots seem to carry a side–effect of their own, intensified when high dosages are taken. The patient first enters a hallucinogenic state, and, for quite some time afterward, suffers severe memory loss, which all my previous patients reported as temporary. Shelke seemed unperturbed by my warning when she first came for treatment. I worried about her mental state.” He left it hanging in the air, obviously waiting for an answer.

Reluctantly, Vincent replied. “She is still recovering from the trauma of losing her sister.” _Let that be all the explanation you need, doctor._

Knotwood sat back in his chair. “I see. So her lack of… expression is not a side–effect, like I’d thought.”

Vincent dropped his arms, patience wearing thin. “How is she doing?”

“Excellent, so far. I’ve had to give her higher doses than I’d like to, though, and she seems to be building a resistance, as well.” He looked back up at Vincent. “Don’t worry; her long–term prognosis is good. It’s just…” He dropped his gaze again. “I’m afraid some of her memory loss might become permanent, with the intense therapy.”

The pit of Vincent’s stomach dropped. “Is the damage permanent… already?”

Knotwood shook his head. “It fades in and out, mostly. I wanted to warn you that… she may not remember details, particularly insignificant events, things that aren’t core to her personality.” The doctor stood, pushing back his chair. “Other than that, she is doing well. She’s very cooperative and has incredibly high pain–tolerance.” The doctor granted him a sideways glance.

Vincent’s head spun as he followed Knotwood through an archway into a hall of doorways. _Not core to her personality?_ Just how much of Lucrecia’s memories did she still retain? With Lucrecia silent at night, how was he ever supposed to learn how to free her? The doctor stopped outside a door. “This is her room. She should be fairly lucid; she hasn’t had a treatment today.” He paused before turning to leave. “We welcome visitors, anytime. Just let us know if you need any accommodating.” And Knotwood was gone, back to his office.

Vincent turned the knob on the door, opening it slowly. The room was sparsely decorated, with thin curtains and a single flower in a tapered vase on the bedside table. Shelke stood with her back to him, staring out the window. She turned, face puzzled at first but breaking into suppressed joy when she recognized him. “Vincent Valentine.” She smiled. “Come to check up on me?” She sat down on the narrow bed.

Vincent didn’t answer as he lowered himself into a chair. “I hear you’re doing well.”

She nodded. “Dr. Knotwood says I should make a full recovery.” She lifted one hand, gazing at it in the sunlight from the window. “He says I may even grow again, once the Lifestream concoction is out of my system.” She glanced up at him again. “He says that I may have to come back, though, if I do, so he can monitor me and make sure I don’t develop too fast.”

“Do you like it here?” Vincent asked, glad that she was thriving.

Shelke gave him a firm nod. “The people here… help me figure out what I’m… missing. They don’t make me feel inhuman, or weird. At least… we’re all scared but trying together.” She raised an eyebrow, a mannerism she’d gotten from him. “So why have you visited me today?”

Vincent hesitated. “I need to know… if any of your uploaded memories from Lucrecia contain any data on how she crystallized herself.”

“Lucrecia…?” Shelke’s eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the wall. “Didn’t her memories integrate when I uploaded the complete file? Or have they faded because of the medicine…?” She looked back to him, her too–young face pinched together. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember… anything.” She scuffed a foot against the floor. “I can see her face, but I can’t feel her anymore. I’m sorry.” She gave him another worried glance. “Why do you need her memories?”

It was Vincent’s turn to stare absently out the window. “She told me that she can come back, but she needed my help.”

Shelke’s eyebrows shot up. Knotwood thought she lacked expression? She was an open book, now, not the same Shelke that had left Edge a week ago. “See? I told you to tell her how you feel.”

Vincent was surprised into a smirk. “Indeed.” He stood, as something occurred to him. “I need to speak with Dr. Knotwood again. I’ll visit you again, whenever I’m in the area.” She stood, rubbing her palms against the thighs of her jeans. He caught her eyes. “I’m relieved to hear you will recover.”

She nodded. “Good luck, Vincent.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “I want you to know, Shelke, I am grateful for all your help.”

“And I am grateful for yours, Vincent.”

He smiled at her and turned to go, but caught himself again. He had almost forgotten. He slipped a hand under his cloak, drawing out the mythril locket he’d purchased earlier. He offered it to her, pooling it into her outstretched hand, and she stared in wonder. She studied it, the polished, oval locket carved in an intricate, twining design, thin but resilient chain slipping between her fingers. “My mother used to have a locket, just like this.” She walked over to a drawer, sliding out a photo of Shalua. She held it up so he could see. “I got this from Reeve. When Dr. Knotwood first told me of the side effects, I was afraid I’d forget her. I had so little of her to remember, and I never wanted to lose it.” She glanced up at Vincent. “I think I’ll put this picture in here.” She held up the necklace, making it glitter. “Maybe I’ll put you on the other side.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “Go. Be swift and bring her back. We all have much to thank her for. We would not have you or each other without her.”

As Vincent strode down the hall toward Knotwood’s office, he pondered Shelke’s words. Was that their outlook? Did Tifa and Shelke and Cloud want Lucrecia to come back, not only for him, but for themselves as well? To thank her? He shook his head. After all that had happened, they wanted to thank her? It amazed him every time he remembered that not everyone lived in the past, like he had for so many years.

But still, reflecting on his previous night’s sleep, Shelke’s words chilled him.

_I can see her face, but I can’t feel her anymore…_


	8. Sun, Moon, and the Surrounding Blackness

Vincent knocked on the door to the doctor’s office, waiting for a greeting before entering. Knotwood was standing behind his desk, finishing up a conversation with the nurse from the front desk. When she saw him, she clutched the chart she was holding to her chest, giving the doctor a faint nod before squeezing past Vincent to the door, eyes glued to the ground. Vincent watched her with his eyebrows drawn together, and after she made her hasty exit, turned his puzzled stare on Knotwood. “Do I truly make her that uncomfortable?” He was, by now, unsurprised by others’ reactions to him, but she seemed traumatized by him, somehow.

Knotwood gave an irreverent snort. “What, other than your enigmatic presence?” He nodded toward Vincent’s hip. “She was held at rifle–point by Deepground soldiers trying to access our stores of purified Lifestream. We keep it locked in a vault, and thankfully they were called away before accessing it or harming anyone. Much like Shelke, she is still recovering from the shock.”

Oh, the irony. _Unnerved by the revolver that ultimately saved them._ He couldn’t blame her, all the same.

“So what else do you need, Mr. Valentine?” Knotwood asked, straightening a folder on his desk.

“You’re the only expert on Lifestream and mako poisoning. I have… another friend, stuck in a suspended state of animation.” Vincent paused, trying to find the words to explain Lucrecia’s predicament without going into back–story. “She’s infected by Jenova cells and a contaminated form of Lifestream.”

“Is she in a support tube?”

“No. She is suspended in crystal.” Vincent reluctantly admitted.

Vincent had Knotwood’s full attention now; the doctor raised an eyebrow but, thankfully, asked no questions. He took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Contaminated Lifestream? I’ve never heard of it, much less treated it.” He came around to the front of his desk, leaning against the rim. He gazed past Vincent, lost in thought for the moment. “I’d love to study it, though,” His eyes settled back onto Vincent. “Are you trying to revive her?” Vincent nodded. “The only thing I can recommend is visiting Cosmo Canyon; their studies of the planet are truly amazing. I believe one of the elders there has an extensive knowledge of crystals and how they form.” He pushed himself off the edge of the desk. “But it’s quite the journey from here, though, and they are not particularly open to strangers.”

It was Vincent’s turn to look thoughtful. “That’s not a problem. I have an ally there.”

The doctor extended his hand, and after a moment, Vincent shook it. He turned to go. “Oh, if you can, bring me a sample for my research. I’d appreciate it,” The doctor told him.

Vincent paused, hand on the doorknob. _I am the research, doctor._ “I’ll see what I can do.” He was still reconciling his feelings about Lucrecia’s experimentation on him; had she been using humans as research subject, just like Hojo? Why would anyone inflict pain on another, in the name of science? He shook the disturbing thoughts from his mind. “Thank you for all your assistance. I’m grateful to be leaving Shelke’s care in competent hands.”

Knotwood nodded a farewell. “Best of luck.”

Vincent gave the nurse a slight smile as he past her, heading back to the inn to make arrangements for the long journey to Cosmo Canyon. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of seeking Nanaki and his hometown’s advice before. _Hopefully,_ Vincent mused, _I will get an answer there._

* * *

Exhausted in the way only shopping with two children can inflict, Tifa ushered Marlene and Denzel inside the house, all of them dragging bags of groceries. After depositing all of it on the kitchen table, the two young kids exchanged glances, and Tifa knew they were going to disappear into the backyard again, as they had the previous day. As soon as she turned her back, she heard the side door slam. _At least they’re getting some sun._ She started to put away the food, organizing the shelves as she went.

Outside, Marlene and Denzel crossed the small yard to the lean–to they made out of poles from broken street signs and a few old blankets. They sat down, hidden from the glare of the sun and Tifa’s view from the kitchen window, and Denzel dug out the small package of beef jerky he’d managed to pilfer from one of the grocery bags. He was glad he hadn’t lost the touch; he’d been a street orphan, hadn’t he?

Denzel tore open the plastic, passing the biggest piece to Marlene. They both chewed thoughtfully for a moment, before Marlene asked the question they’d been afraid to seek the answer for. “Do you think Cloud’s going to leave again?”

Denzel scuffed his feet into the dirt. “Tifa’s been sad. Cloud hasn’t even been home for dinner for two nights. What do you think, Marlene?” She paused, jerky half–way to her mouth, stung by the venom in his words. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so pissed he’s doing this to us again.”

Marlene nodded, lowering her hand into her lap. “Tifa said he’s not leaving. I asked her.”

“She might be lying to protect us, you know.” Denzel glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “She’d do anything for us.” His simmering resentment bubbled over again. “Unlike Cloud.”

Marlene shook her head slowly. “He loves us, Denzel. He’s trying.” Denzel just bit savagely into his snack again. “I think he loves Tifa, too.” She hesitated. “I wish Vincent hadn’t left.”

He nodded his agreement. “I wish he was still here, too. But he’ll be back. He loves us, too.”

Marlene scooted next to Denzel, leaning against his shoulder. “I know.” He put one arm around her shoulders, as much to comfort himself as to soothe her. They sat in the slanted sunlight together, two young souls, so used to the uneven rocking of their world they couldn’t even point out the horizon anymore.

* * *

Cloud arrived home long past dark, parking Fenrir in the shed and letting himself in the side door silently. Tifa had left dinner out for him, covered in plastic wrap on the kitchen table. The fruit bowl on the counter was full; she must have done shopping today. He felt a pang, having missed a third night of dinner. Carefully selecting an apple from the bowl, he bit into it hungrily. At least he wouldn’t be gone tomorrow evening; he patted the slim box in his pants pocket. He’d finally found it, and it was perfect. He picked up the plate and set it in the fridge, knowing she’d notice it in the morning. But he’d be gone by then, anyway. Early start on his deliveries. He leaned against the counter, contemplating the reaction he wouldn’t see, content to sit in the dark for now.

But when the kitchen light flickered on and a sleepy Denzel, dressed in baggy flannel pants and oversized t–shirt, wandered into the kitchen, Cloud blinked against the sudden blaze of light, startling the young boy. “Hey, Denzel,” He said, squinting his eyes. Denzel just shot him a glare and moved toward the cabinet with the glasses. _Is the whole goddamn house mad at me?_ Denzel retrieved a cup, running himself a drink of water from the tap. He trudged past Cloud, who watched his mussed hair bounce before trying again. “Denzel.”

Denzel stopped in the doorway without turning around. Cloud was hit by a sudden misgiving, stronger than he thought possible, when he realized what was probably bothering the boy. He stuttered for words. _Are they that sensitive to me? My actions?_ “I haven’t been gone just to be gone. Things will get better.” He stopped, not sure about the weight of his next words, afraid of them. “I promise.”

Denzel just continued to the stairs, as if Cloud hadn’t been there at all.

Long after going to bed, Cloud stared at the ceiling with no urge to sleep whatsoever. He thought about all Tifa had done for him; she was his daylight, always showing the way every time he faltered. Marlene and Denzel were miniature moons, reflecting everything she gave off, but he was just like a black hole; sucking up all her radiance and giving nothing back, oblivious. And her guidance had flickered out in a matter of days, tired from constant stress and worry, already given everything it could. And the whole family had fallen into darkness, just like that. Cloud cursed his narrow–mindedness. Had he truly thought he would make everything better, by buying a gift yet still staying away? When all they needed was him, here, giving something back? He thought about Tifa’s laugh when he’d teased her in the kitchen, just a week before, and the shining way Marlene and Denzel had been at breakfast, glowing up at Vincent, happy to have another person to share with. He felt that old, familiar self–loathing creep up on him, filling his lungs with iron. The urge to grab his jacket and keys and ride for hours came back. _No. I will not run anymore._ He gritted his teeth against the feeling. _Have I forgotten how to cherish the consistent things in life already?_ Suddenly, he needed to hear Marlene giggle and see Denzel’s grin, faces something other than grim masks waiting for the inevitable destruction. But most of all, he needed that light, that beacon, that unadulterated glow that was Tifa Lockhart. He wanted it to fill him again, replace the heavy shame that was beginning to drag him down. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, crossing silently to the door and into the hallway before he realized what he was doing. His hand reached for Tifa’s bedroom doorknob, the house filled to the brim with silence and resentment, and he pictured it flooding into her room, drowning her while he stood in the doorway, unable to do anything but watch. So instead of turning it, he leaned his forehead against the door, imagining her dark hair fanned across the pillow, hand curled under her chin, eyelashes fluttering against her smooth cheeks. He wanted to see her, so much, missing her with a vehemence that astounded him.

It seemed like hours before Cloud pushed himself away from her door, returning to his own bed. He stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, and for some reason, all he could picture was the apple he’d thrown away after one bite, because it simply hadn’t seemed as good anymore.

* * *

Tifa plodded downstairs in the morning, bleary–eyed and not looking forward to making breakfast for only three again. She got the tea brewing and opened the doors into the bar, retrieving the dish soap she’d left by the sink the previous night. That’s when she noticed the slender, sleek black box sitting on the open register. _Where could that have come from? Did someone leave it?_ She didn’t remember anyone losing anything. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand, noticing the stamp on the bottom from an expensive jeweler’s. _Could Cloud have…?_

She cracked it open, nearly dropping it when she saw what it was. A single teardrop pearl, entwined by a silver twist of wire, hung from a delicate chain, the design the exact match to the earrings that had been her mother’s. She was so enchanted by the necklace she almost missed the slip of paper that fell when she opened the box. She picked it up from the floor, unfolding it, and saw in Cloud’s slanted scribble:

_Tifa-_

_Don’t forgive me; don’t even thank me. I just needed to know that you’d smile today._

_–Cloud_

_p.s. I’ll be home early tonight. Don’t make dinner._

And she remembered the creak outside her bedroom door the previous night, realizing she hadn’t been the only awake and wondering, after all.


	9. Resonance

Vincent stared up at the flickering light that was Cosmo Candle, and did not look forward to the dusty hike up the sharp cliffs that housed the town. It had been a long day. After experiencing a commercial airship flight with a pilot so unsteady it even made him feel slightly airsick, he’d managed to sympathize with Yuffie. But the train ride was far, far longer than he ever cared to experience again; he was beginning to miss the days of hard travel on foot.

Undeceived by the permanent dusk of the canyon, he studied the sky, knowing it would fall dark soon. He did not want to arrive and disturb the whole town, so he decided to wait until morning. Vincent looked around, finding a slight overhang in one of the cliff–sides. He made a cold camp, satchel thrown to the side against the rock wall, cloak swept over his legs and torso. He put his hands behind his head, bending one lanky knee and tucking his foot against the opposite side of his other limb. Settling his hips into the stony ground, he gave a slight smile at the feeling of pointed edges digging into his spine. He stared up at the night sky, the stars brighter than anywhere else in the world, untainted by electrical light. A cold wind whipped over him, rattling pebbles from the cliff above him, making him shiver from where it penetrated his clothing.

He loved this feeling; the discomfort and chill, the emptiness and endless expanse of sky, reminding him his life was small, that thousands of souls had been filtered through the Lifestream and the universe it obeyed, that no matter how dire or how much agony he suffered, he was just a speck from that sea of stars. He remembered the pressure, the immensity of the sky when he had pushed himself into it, breaking the barriers of the planet’s pull, the rush and the burn and the scream no one had heard as he let himself be sucked back into it, that headlong plunge into Omega, and how when everything broke afterward, and he spiraled down toward the surface, he truly, honestly thought he might expire in the flash of heat and no one would be able to tell his ashes from Omega’s. But he had caught himself anyway; body sore from the inside out, through and through, and it had taken him two days before he could move again. Something still needed to be said, and he knew now, there was much left to do.

So Vincent gazed up at the wide splash of stars, letting that barrenness wash over him, glad to be free, if just for a moment, and slipped into sleep without even noticing.

_He dreamt he was in Tifa’s living room, and she was bent over the coffee table and Marlene, who had papers and a textbook spread across the wood surface, and both of them gazed so intently down at the homework that he was surprised it didn’t burst into flames. But when Tifa’s forehead smoothed out, and Marlene glanced up at her, they both looked in his phantom direction. Tifa gave a soft smile, Marlene a bright grin, and he heard a rock rattle…_

He opened his eyes, unmoving in every other way. His right hand twitched, aching for his revolver, but he restrained himself. The three desert sahagins that surrounded him hadn’t noticed he was awake yet. _By the power of Holy, I hate these creatures._ He’d had a gritty enough time dispatching the ones from Shin–Ra mansion’s sewer systems; their greasy slime and high–pitched hiss made him want to snarl. One of the three prodded the ground next to him with its staff, obviously encouraging the others to attack, muttering in that low, guttural tone. Vincent watched them, waiting for the right moment, and the bold one of the three turned toward him, intent on gutting him with the sharpened stick. It lifted it high above its head as the other two spread out around him, gleeful with their intended kill. The sahagin brought down the staff, and the metallic _tink!_ of it being deflected by Vincent’s gauntleted arm was lost in the echoing boom of Cerberus off the cliff–side. Vincent used the momentum from the deflection to spring himself to his feet, the blood and flesh of the first creature spraying across the rocks and raining down on him and the creatures he still faced. He suppressed the urge to slick the gore off his face, instead letting Cerberus ring out once more as he darted to the side, the sahagin left still standing lifting it’s weapon and springing out with a quick, spearing jab. Vincent dodged it smoothly, the creature being far below his skill level, and since he was in too close of a proximity to be harmed by the creature’s staff or for another clean shot, he reached out with a snarl, sweeping the legs out from it and cleanly snapping its neck with the unnatural force that was his left arm.

The horizon was filtered with that familiar pre–dawn glow; Vincent stood in the shadow of the overhang, not even panting from the split–second battle. He looked around at the mess the death of the three monsters had created, pooled blood and fragments of bone and that sickly smell hanging in the air, before wiping the rust–colored flecks off the triple barrels of his gun with one edge of his cloak and holstering it. _I’ll have to clean that thoroughly, tonight._ He picked up his sack, slinging it over one shoulder before stepping around the disarray and back onto the trail. _I’ll have to clean everything about me, for that matter._ His ears rung from the strong echo, his boots and hair and cloak speckled with blood and gristle, and he gave one last disdainful look at the bodies of the sahagins before trudging up the trail, finally wiping the splatter from his face. The bitter scent of it wafted into his nose, his beasts bubbling up, and he took a long breath to repress them again. He hated the pump of his heart, the adrenaline rush that made them wake and scramble for more bloodshed, the feeling of power that rushed through him, sapping away at what humanity he still possessed and fought to retain. He hated it, but he loved it, as well.

Vincent knew the gunshots had woken up the entire town; the nightly guard had undoubtedly retrieved the elders to tell them something was coming. They would be assembled and ready to fight, and he would walk up those long steps covered in the aftermath of a battle, looking like the gruesome angel of death. He prayed Nanaki was at the frontline, otherwise he’d have a whole town to subdue without injuring them, and he did not look forward to that.

_Goddamn desert cretin…_

Thankfully, Nanaki was at the top of the steps when Vincent, dusty and filthy, began to ascend them. Recognizing the distinctive crimson cloak, Nanaki waved the surrounding townsfolk off. He padded down to meet Vincent, catching him halfway. “I suspected it was you.” He turned, and they climbed side–by–side. “Nothing besides three barrels could make that resonance.” Vincent gave a small snort, peeved by the rest of his morning. Nanaki raised his sensitive snout into the air. “Sahagins?” Vincent nodded. “Pests.” They resumed the climb in silence.

They reached the flat base of the town; Nanaki guided him to the inn, calling out a greeting as he entered. Vincent remained outside, knowing the stench that rolled off him would not be welcome, and leaned against the wall next to the curtained doorway. A few minutes later Nanaki poked his rust–colored head out. “You are free to use their bathing facilities. I also arranged a room for you.” Vincent gave him a nod, and swept through the doorway, taking the direct path to the bathing area.

After a thorough shower, Vincent felt much better. His clothes, on the other hand, would take a few wash cycles to come clean, the owner of the inn informed him. So he bought a set of clothes, forgoing the robe she had provided him with, and left a substantial stack of gil on the counter while she was in the back. He brushed the curtain aside to exit, lifting one hand to his face to shield his eyes from the golden sunlight. The town was still, its people back to their daily morning routine. He shook his bangs from his eyes, unruly from the lack of bandana, annoyed at the way the edges brushed his cheekbones. He crossed the open expanse to the stairs that meandered up to Bugenhagen’s home. The weapon seller called out a greeting as he passed, and his general irritation at his day began to subside. Despite contrary opinion, he did not mind other people; he simply didn’t want to explain to curious onlookers or try to sooth fearful, preconceived suspicion. There were much, much better uses for his time, and most of them didn’t involve help from others, so he chose not to disturb them with his presence.

He climbed the ladder up to Bugen’s observatory, taking in the sweeping view before knocking on the door. Bugen opened it with a creak, motioning him inside instantly. Nanaki was perched on the couch casually, giving Vincent a nod in greeting. “Thank you for the help earlier. The innkeeper was most gracious.”

“Don’t you know that you are always welcome in Cosmo Canyon?” Bugenhagen exclaimed from where he stood in front of his stove, mixing three cups of tea. He turned, setting a widened bowl in front of Nanaki, and handed the other mug to Vincent as he lowered himself to the couch. Vincent crossed his legs, ankle on a knee, before bringing the rim of the mug to his mouth. The three of them could sit here all day, he knew, in pensive silence, punctuated only by Bugen’s occasional outward exclamation of his thoughts. But as much as he wanted to enjoy the peacefulness, he knew he had not time to waste.

“I have come for advice,” Vincent began. “Have either of you spoken to Tifa or Cloud?”

Nanaki shook his head. “Since she contacted me to tell me of your return, I haven’t heard from her.”

Vincent glanced down at his tea, watching the warm liquid swirl, sweet scent tickling his nose. “It seems that… I may be able to recover Lucrecia from her confinement.” He raised his eyes, looking at the grave expression on Nanaki’s furred face. “The doctor in Mideel who is treating Shelke told me one of your elders knew a great deal about crystals. I wish to ask their opinion.”

“Ah, Hargo. She has an impressive expertise.” Bugen looked thoughtful. “Crystals, you know, are key to the planet’s health. They form in the cracks it suffers, as reinforcement and structure. They can be likened to a rough form of materia.” Bugenhagen crossed the room, picking up a receiver to call his fellow elder.

Nanaki watched Vincent with heavy eyes, saying nothing, and he left him to his thoughts, knowing the older creature would speak when ready. Bugen returned to the room. “Hargo said she’d be here in a minute,” he flashed a bright grin. “Good to see you’re moving on with your young life, Vincent.” He gave them his signature laugh.

Vincent snorted. These were the only two people he could ever share a room with and still be considered young. There was a knock on the door, and Hargo let herself in with a swirl of dusty robes. She was a middle–aged woman, with a neat, brunette bun and laugh lines around her mouth. “Sorry. New shipments of goods. Had to make sure my loafer of a daughter was putting them away before I left.” The item shopkeeper gave them sweeping glance. “What help did you need, Bugenhagen?”

“Our friend Vincent Valentine sought it, actually.” He responded.

Vincent set down his tea, rising from the couch. He gave the elder a brief bow. “I heard of your knowledge from Dr. Harlen Knotwood in Mideel.” He met her steady gaze. “I have need of your advice.”

She crossed to the couch, giving him a nod as they both sat. Bugenhagen returned to the kitchen to make more tea. “Advice on crystals?” He could see the focused intelligence in her warm brown eyes, and knew he had found the right person. “They form in places where the planet has been forced to deal with a shock or a wound. They often serve as a bridge when the healing process takes an inordinate amount of time, a base structure the Lifestream can build off from.” She glanced up at him. “They are fairly rare to find these days, since the Lifestream regained Holy; I can’t imagine there would be any wounds deep enough to spur crystal formation.” She thanked Bugen as he handed her a cup of tea, sipping it as she waited for Vincent’s reply.

Vincent shifted on the couch, setting his tea down. “There is a cavern, near Mt. Nibel,” He explained Lucrecia’s predicament to her, with a minimum of details.

Hargo, for her part, did not react with shock. “How does someone survive in a crystallized state?”

“She is also a product of human experimentation,” Vincent told her. “Hojo’s experimentation.”

Hargo fell silent at the cursed scientist’s name. It was known and hated in every town and city, but the mere mention of it in Cosmo Canyon was known to provoke protective snarls. They not only viewed him as a reviled, forsaken man, but as a kidnapper, as well.

Her eyebrows smoothed out as she concentrated on the problem presented to her. “The only thing that comes to mind…” She looked up at him again, cluing him into her thoughts. “Crystals resonate to particular frequencies. It varies from crystal to crystal, of course, depending on properties and formation patterns. Those frequencies, at certain octaves and intervals, can reinforce or destroy the crystal.” She shook her head. “But I’ve never had to preserve something contained in one before.” She glanced off to the side, staring out the window. “If it’s done just right, a crystal will simply disintegrate, leaving nothing but dust. I think that would be the best course.”

Vincent pulled his eyebrows together, skeptical. “It is that simple?” _How long ago could I have accomplished this?_

Hargo let out a brief laugh. “Of course it’s not simple, son.” Vincent’s eyebrows shot up at the epithet. “It takes an enormous amount of energy to produce the exact frequencies, and I am still fine–tuning my machine. And experimenting with its effects on materia, as well.” She stood. “I must be getting back to my shop, though. I will be happy to help, if you can bring me several samples for analysis and testing.” She gave Nanaki and Bugen each a nod, before turning back to Vincent. “Every life is valuable to the Lifestream and the planet; it’s a shame she should be stuck, unable to live and eventually return.”

Vincent stood, shaking her hand. “I will bring you samples as soon as possible. I appreciate your help.”

She laughed. “My pleasure, really. Always wanting to further my research.” Vincent started. _Are all scientists the same? Nothing but their research?_ Hargo gave Bugen and Nanaki another glance. “Thank you for your unending hospitality, Bugenhagen.” The door puffed air in behind her.

Shortly after, Vincent returned to his room at the inn, switching on his phone once more. The message light began flashing. _I should’ve known._ He hit the button for speakerphone, changing into his regular attire that the innkeeper had left on the top of the dresser. The phone began its usual litany. _Thank Holy, I only have one message._

He pulled his shirt over his head, and began fastening the buckles that held the light armor in place. It felt so much better, to be wearing clean clothes again, and not loose, flowing ones, either.

The message was not from Yuffie, as he expected. “Vincent, it’s Cloud. I’m calling, well, because I wanted to talk to someone who doesn’t hate me at the moment. And we’re all wondering how you and Shelke are doing.” Cloud let out an “hmph” noise. “And I was thinking. What are you supposed to do if they won’t forgive you?” He sighed. “Never mind. Can’t wait to hear from you.” _Click._ “End of messages,” The recorded voice intoned.

As soon as the sun began to go down, Vincent left his room to sit on the platform by the Canyon’s never–ending fire. He pondered Cloud’s strangely honest message, while watching the licking fire casting its uneven shadows across the ground. What could have gone so wrong that Tifa wouldn’t forgive Cloud? Vincent thought back to three long years before, to that eerily calm look on Aerith’s face, that expression that maybe only Vincent didn’t deny as the unflinching acceptance it was. _After all the life and chance she gave us… Why do we make forgiveness so hard to seek and receive?_ He had cared for Aerith, in his unspoken way, despite her naivety and his withdrawn distrust. She had been so… undeniably dedicated. He felt something deep within his chest crack, and he remembered Marlene’s dancing eyes and Tifa’s gentle smile, and the hopeful countenance Shelke possessed. Gifts she had left, if only they knew how to appreciate them. He knew it was time for him to accept forgiveness as something to be earned and offered, not denied. And yet he found he had no words of advice to present to Cloud.

The shadows around the fire changed; Nanaki had joined him on the platform, sitting silently beside him. They watched the flickering light for a few moments, before Nanaki gave him a long gaze. “I admire this… quest you have undertaken, Vincent. This town is peaceful and content, but its citizens are still restless. I think we, as a people, have forgotten the unending trials that make life, in these turbulent times.” He gazed up at the sky above the fire, ashes flittering against the stars unveiling themselves. “I was a warrior before I was anything else for so long.”

“Indeed.” Vincent agreed. “Everyday hardships seem much more difficult after living in a world so focused on simple survival. We forget the things that made it so important.”

“I am Nanaki, son of the brave warrior Seto, but what else can I be?” Nanaki muttered, raising his slender snout to the night. He let out a long howl, one that echoed against the rise of the town and its surrounding cliffs, and it was Vincent’s turn to give his muddled friend a long look, and wonder how life had gotten so desperate that an entire world had forgotten what it meant to be alive.


	10. Wrecking Yard

Vincent stood on the rocky ledge outside Lucrecia’s cavern, spray from the waterfall sprinkling darkened flecks across his cloak, and wondered how he came to be here so soon after swearing he never would again. But then again, he’d been determined to seal off this portion of his heart, and all it took was a few, simple words to amend _that_ pledge. He considered the waterfall, the downward rush of pure energy, admiring its beauty. How many times had he been here and never noticed how hypnotizingly dazzling it was?

Lowering himself to the rough ground, he watched the streaming water for a while. _What am I here for, besides crystals? Am I being a fool by trying to reconcile my past with a future?_ He squeezed his arm to his side, feeling the moogle doll in between. He’d changed, he knew, in the time since he’d been here last. He thought about when he’d last exited through the waterfall, done so often he’d hardly gotten wet, and his surprise at seeing Shelke waiting for him. Yes, he had gazed up at the sky with a flicker of hope. _But hope of what?_ He bore his eyes into the opening, as if he could see past the waterfall and into the cavern, into something that would yield answers. _Will this plunge me back into that blackened era?_

He stood despite his misgivings, slinging the pack off his back, swiftly undoing the buckles at his throat. The day was sunny and warm, but he wanted Moogle and the rest of his supplies to stay dry. He laid his cloak neatly across the leather pouch, tucking them under a crag similar to the one he’d recently spent the night under. He turned to check the sky, distrustful in spite of the lack of clouds. Straightening, he approached the opening and crossed under the chilly cascade of water.

It felt like it had been eons instead of a few weeks; so familiar and yet foreign: the quiet dripping of water from the curved ceiling, the jagged juts of crystalline rock, the gentle rippling of the pool at the center. Most of all, that calm face of hers, arms crossed like an angel or, Vincent thought, like someone laid to their final rest. She had disappeared from his dreams nearly two weeks prior; Vincent felt slightly shaken, knowing he had reason to miss the twisted blessing that was his nightmares. He stood mesmerized by her silent visage, his purpose entirely forgotten. _How does it fade so fast, this memory, this feeling?_ He could feel his heart fragmenting all over again; did she realize the rampage she released on him, just by sharing this close grotto? How could she, when she was gone to Odin knew where, absent from his dreams, the only connection they shared beside their warped history?

He felt so naked in this moment, stripped of all he’d become so accustomed to bearing, missing those burdens because they were all he had known, for so long, before letting them go. Now, confronted with them again, before the torment and unrelenting void could pull him back, he grasped for something he’d never felt.

He pulled off his boots first, armor next, bandana last. Bare of everything except his leather pants, he waded into the pool at the base of Lucrecia’s feet, gazing up at her on her crystalline pedestal. He ground his teeth together until they should have been powder, right fist pounding the surface of the water hard enough to make the side of it sting. He felt desperate with vulnerability and his uncontainable grief, savoring it and hating it, all the same after so long. “I could have let you go,” he told her. “I would have spent my long, miserable life missing you, and it could have been enough, just to know I’d done something to deserve the time we’d spent together. But would that,” he faltered, unable to form it into words. “Would that have been better than this?” Her peaceful face gave away no secrets. He let his knees give out beneath him, weak with emotions he’d never allowed himself to face, thinking it would make him stronger, knowing now he’d been afraid. Anger, sorrow, guilt… He knew what to do with those. But fear, defenselessness? He crouched on his knees, chin brushing the top of the water, and remembered how powerful those feelings were. _How have I… let myself reach this point?_ He lay back in the shallow water, his hair floating behind him, body buoyant despite the unthinkable modifications it held. _How did I live that way, for so long, believing I would never go through this again, if I just didn’t let myself?_

“..incent…” His chin shot up, splashing water, and he brushed his damp bangs from his eyes. It came again. “Re… member… cent…”

_The picnic basket was open between them, and slices of apple and hunks of bread and cheese spread on the blanket. She had taken off her white lab–coat in the warm air, and he had shed his suit jacket shortly after, rolling his shirtsleeves up. They had an open bottle of red wine; Lucrecia had forgotten the glasses in her eagerness, and they passed it back and forth, drinking straight from the narrow gap. He tasted her lips on it, every time he swallowed, and maybe that was what led him to have a few more sips than he should have. He let his eyes roam over the hillside, Shin–Ra mansion looking picturesque below them, birds chirping among the blossoms in the trees, grass yellow–green and wavering in the light breeze, wildflowers blooming like they were afraid color would fade from the cosmos any moment and they must shine their best before it happened. Mostly, though, he watched her. He couldn’t remember how he had made her laugh. He did remember, though, how she lifted her chin, letting her laughter roll out of her, one hand clutching at her not–yet–pregnant belly and the other covering her mouth. A breeze drifted over them, carrying the scent of wildflowers, but underneath, Vincent smelled her skin: soft, warm, sweeter than he’d ever imagined a woman could smell like. And then she laid a hand on his arm and told him he had the driest, wittiest sense of humor she’d ever heard, and he smiled as she seemed to catch hold of a memory, dropping her hand. Vincent blinked, knowing she had touched on something distressing, but before he could ask he what was wrong, she shook her head and smiled again._

_They lay back on the blanket, not touching, and he could just see the tips of her pink–painted toes and her red shoes bouncing where she had her feet crossed at the ankles. He stared, fascinated, knowing it wasn’t just the wine; he rolled his head to look at her, and she was gazing up at the branches that extended out in front of their vision, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her, all day. Driven by compulsion and likely alcohol, he leaned off one side of the blanket, plucking a bright yellow daffodil. He leaned over her as she watched him, half–smile gracing those curving, pink lips, and he tucked it into the ribbon she used to keep her hair back, smiling at the way it contrasted her golden hair, bringing out its subtle highlights. She gazed up at him where he leaned on one elbow, body turned toward her, and she lifted one hand halfway to her head, palm open. How does it look? She inquired of him, and he smiled down at her._

_You’re beautiful, he told her before catching himself, meaning to compliment the accessory. He glanced around quickly, hoping she didn’t hear the subconscious truth behind his words. He let his eyes fall back on her smiling face, his heart pounding as she raised that open palm to his cheek, drawing him down to her, and he was caught in the swirling depth of her melted–honey eyes, before kissing her with a tentative grace, more careful than he’d handled any gun. She slid her hand up his cheek and through his hair, grasping the other that had come to rest behind his neck. He let himself fall against her, body pressed up to hers, nerves shocking to life as he felt the length of her body. And he kissed her, mouth light as breath alongside hers, and his chest exploded with the tightness that had been building all afternoon, spreading through him, down him, twining him to her like ivy clung to the mansion. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight to him, and felt her do the same, and she slipped her hands into the collar of his shirt, stroking his neck and the sensitive place behind his ears, and he thought he would die from ecstasy. He found out not long after, though, that it simply wasn’t possible._

Vincent cracked open his eyes, chest aching from the memory, the only time she’d ever let herself loosen the reins on her feelings for him, the only time she allowed him to hold her, kiss her. He told her many times how he’d felt, of course, even managing to scrounge up a presentable ring, though he knew it was unlikely she’d accept. It broke his heart, all the same, seeing her turn to Hojo. If only she’d told him the truth that day, maybe the tides would have changed, because he’d never have blamed her. But now, he gazed up at her, filled with regret, but knowing he had the chance to make her smile, hold her hand, to love her again. He sat up, swishing water around him, and brought a wet hand to a wet face. How long had it been since he’d shed tears? “Lucrecia…” He swallowed, hard enough to clear his swollen throat. “We’d never be the same…” He dropped his hand back into the water. “Is it still worth it?” He put his face into wet hands, dark hair clinging to his cheek and fingers, and wallowed in a silent trance so deep even the water he rested in seemed to disappear.

Which is why he was startled when, after hearing rocks skate and clatter, a particular ninja tumbled to the hard ground just a few feet away. Instantly, he was on his feet, disbelieving the intrusion, inflamed by her trespassing in what was his most sacred place. He stood, cold and unflinching, not offering assistance, as Yuffie struggled to her feet, one hand clutching her Conformer and the other idly rubbing the back of her head. She grinned at him, tentative. “Guess I blew the graceful entrance of the shining star of Wutai, huh?”

Vincent pinned her with a steely glare. “Yuffie, what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to check on you, you know?” She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her the heels of her feet.

He remained silent. She paced toward him, anxious, her eyes taking in his compromised state of dress. _When did I last see the supposedly impenetrable Yuffie Kisaragi nervous?_ Vincent watched her with narrowed eyes. _Ah. Right before she stole all our materia, that’s when._ She dropped herself to one side of the pool, point of her ninja star buried in the sand, forcing him to turn away from Lucrecia to watch her. She looked up the entrapped woman, her expression hardening into a cold mask. Vincent already knew why she had come; it was impossible to avoid this moment forever.

“When Barret told me that you were… going to bring her back,” Yuffie began, her fingers tracing patterns in the sand, patterns he’d seen repeated in Wutai’s famous sand gardens. “I needed to make sure you knew what you were doing.”

Vincent waded out of the pool, dripping water onto the sand. He stood apart from her, prompting her to continue with his silence. Her eyes flashed up to him, defiant and daring. “Because I don’t see why you’d want to bring back the woman who made your life a living hell.” She shook her head, dark hair flinging out from her face, whipping about her green bandana. She brought her knees to her chest. “You’re still hung up on her, when she left you for another man? When she ruined your life?” She shoved herself off the ground, energy bounding loose, unable to stay still with her unease. She turned toward Vincent, gray eyes like the ocean in a storm, never staying in one place. She brushed sand off her hands with the sides of the khaki shorts she seemed to favor, flat stomach heaving with forced breath. “The life I’ve saved how many times? I just…” She cast her hands to her sides, taking a reproachful step toward him before holding her hands out in supplication. “I just don’t think this is a good idea, Vincent.” She dropped her hands again, giving Lucrecia’s form a sidelong glance. “I have a bad feeling about this…”

Vincent crossed his arms, lowering his chin. He caught her gaze before raising an eyebrow, face like stone. “I know what I’m doing, Yuffie.”

It wasn’t enough for the restless ninja. She flung her arms out from her, taking another step closer. “But, Vincent, all she’s going to do is break your heart again!”

He dropped his head to his chest, closing his eyes. How was he supposed to explain it to the naïve girl in a way she’d understand? She simply couldn’t, he knew, because she didn’t want to. If Yuffie had anything, it was strength of will. When he opened his eyes again, she was standing right in front of him, gazing up at him with those eyes, her bare arms rising with goosebumps. If only she’d say what she’d really come to say. But, no, the young woman had to torture him first. His heart still tumbled and ached, mind still churning from his memory of Lucrecia, and now he was forced to reckon with his unresolved feelings about Yuffie. _What am I supposed to tell her? That no matter what she does, she cannot compare to the whirlwind that ties Lucrecia and I together? That no matter how much I care for her, I cannot let Lucrecia rot while I live on?_ He stared into the tempest that was her eyes. _But how profound are her emotions?_

“She needs to be freed, whether or not her intentions involve me.” Vincent gave her a tight frown. “She deserves that much, after helping save the planet.”

Yuffie snorted indignantly, dropping her eyes. “Yeah, after she nearly destroyed it.” She lifted her gaze to Vincent’s again. “Just like she nearly destroyed you.”

_Discovery needs to be had._ Vincent shot out his hands, grabbing her by the shoulders. He stared down at her, and she looked up at him with shocked eyes. “Yuffie… Do you love me?”

Yuffie broke from his hold, hands warding him off. “Whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?”

_Maybe not as profound as she has led herself to believe._ “Answer me.”

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. “I… I care for you, Vincent. I want to see you happy.” Her eyes told him otherwise.

Vincent sighed. “I care for you as well,” he told her, before gazing up at Lucrecia again. It felt so wrong, to be admitting this in her presence. “I care for you a great deal, Yuffie.” He shook his head, plummeting his gaze to the ground. “But you cannot live your life pining after someone who is more monster than human.”

Yuffie shoved him abruptly in the chest. It caught him off guard, and he took a step back to maintain his balance. “Stop it! Stop it with the ‘I’m a monster’ crap! I know it’s not true! You can’t fool me, Vincent, I’ve seen how kind and brave you are.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Can’t you just live your life, Vincent? Without torturing yourself over _her_?”

Vincent repressed the urge to sneer that flooded him. “And live it with you? Watch you grow old, wither away before my eyes, without leaving Wutai a proper heir? Would you forsake your homeland? Because that’s what you’d have to do, Yuffie. They’d never accept me there.” He leaned forward, boring into her, unable to stop the outward flow, sentimental limit broken. “That would be torture only to benefit _you,_ Yuffie. I would still live, pining for someone lost and gone. No different from what I’m doing now.”

She stumbled back, stung by his scorn, raising a hand to her eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry, Vincent, I just…” She let out a strangled noise before sweeping her weapon into one hand and darting out of the cave.  
  
Vincent hung his head in his hands, filled with self–loathing. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh with her; he knew she had been vulnerable, just like him, and they had reacted to each other unfairly because of it. What kind of situation did he have to salvage, now?

With a heavy feeling of dread, Vincent dressed again, and then gathered up several hand–sized crystals lying loose around the cavern. He gave Lucrecia one last, long glance before turning to pass through the waterfall. _Can you forgive me the faint feelings I harbor for Yuffie? Or will that affection drive us apart, like Hojo did before?_

When Vincent stepped outside, he found it was pouring rain. Already soaked to the core, he threw out his arms and let it wash over him.

_If only this were simple…_


	11. Poison

Cloud stood at the sink at the bar, up to his elbows in soapy water, trying to wash dishes so Tifa could close. Distracted by her continual cold shoulder, he sighed, trying to focus his mind on scrubbing the glasses. He’d been home early every night for three days; he’d even brought takeout for dinner the night after he’d given her the necklace, doing the dishes and cleaning up the mess. And yet she still regarded him with mistrust, and he knew she thought he was simply trying to worm his way back into her good–will. It was beginning to get to him. _What do I have to do to get her to let this go? Marlene and Denzel are so uneasy already._ Denzel had been jadedly polite to him ever since the night in the kitchen, and Marlene just watched him with frightened eyes. Dinners had been a silent affair. _I’m here, aren’t I? What else can I do, when they won’t talk to me?_ He thought about the kids, torn between bitterness, blame, and guilt. _If they didn’t worship Tifa like that, maybe I could get them to listen to me._ He sighed again. _But if I had been around earlier, this family would be balanced._

Tifa came up beside him, setting down another handful of glasses. She glanced at him briefly, but he was looking at the pearl pendant, swinging away from her throat when she bent. He swallowed, looking back into the water. _Just start at the beginning, Strife._ “Tifa, I’m sorry.”

She turned away, back to tending her bar. “Sorry for what?”

Cloud straightened, his hands banging against the side of the metal sink. “Do you at least like the necklace?”

She stopped, right before the end of the countertop. With her back turned on him, he could see the stiffness of her spine, the way she locked her knees. “I’m wearing it, aren’t I?”

Oh, gods, that comment was poison. He felt anger swell inside him, anger at himself and at her for making him suffer this way. She crossed the room to the wall of booths, and he walked away, leaving the dishes in the sink without a backward glance.

Cloud slammed opened the window when he reached his room, climbing out onto the fire escape. He scaled the ladder, flinging himself down on the rough tiles of the roof, barely noticing the scratches it gave his elbows. Better he brood up here than wait for his frustration to overflow down there, in that icy ambiance.

Vincent had never called him back; he supposed his friend had his hands full with his own problems. _Sure could use some of his cool sympathy._ He scoffed inwardly. _Sympathy from Vincent? Yeah, and Shiva will burst into flame._ Cloud gazed up at the twinkling stars, raising one hand to trace the few constellations he remembered. Although he knew they were constantly fueled balls of fire, they looked so cold up there, miles and miles between each one, like he felt now, lonely and lost without his family.

He used to stare up at the stars after Aerith’s death, and imagine he saw her smile, that sparkle in her eyes, the glow she always carried. Yet ever since that last fight with Kadaj and Sephiroth, she had faded. Not enough to forget, but enough for him to hold it close without the surrounding sorrow threatening to overcome him. He could have loved her more than he already had, he knew, but that wasn’t fate. She had met her fate with a faint smile, and left him with a gift he didn’t understand then. But he could distinguish it now, and felt its missing warmth: that knot that tied them all together, the need and love and support they had. Aerith had been an angel, an untouchable, a servant to a fate no one else could bear; while he could have loved her, there was someone who needed it more, someone whose smile had cracked like a dropped wineglass.

Cloud didn’t notice when the auburn head poked up the fire escape, carefully crawling across the roof toward him. “Cloud…?”

Cloud sat up, startled. “Denzel. What are you doing up here?”

The young boy sat down beside him, hugging his knees to his chest. “I come up here to think, sometimes. When its quiet outside.”

“You, too, huh?” Cloud smiled down at him, glad he wasn’t as closed off. He looked back down to the mossy roof. _I’ve gotta be honest with someone, don’t I?_ “Tifa’s been… unhappy, and I don’t know what to do to make her feel better.”

Denzel nodded. “Me and Marlene thought it was because you were gonna leave again.” He shivered in the cool air. “I thought… you were just gonna abandon us.”

A wave of shame washed into Cloud. He sat still for just a moment, unsure, before scooting closer and putting one arm around Denzel. “I’m not running away anymore. Just like I promised.”

Denzel looked up at him like he was afraid Cloud would take the statement back. “I know… I was just scared, you know? I’m sorry I was mean.”

Cloud hugged him closer. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t realize what I was doing.” He hesitated, glancing at Edge spread out against the horizon, light polluting the sky. “When my father died, I was so scared, and I treated my mother… in ways no one deserved. I pushed her away because I didn’t want to feel that way again, when she died.” He shook his head. “Now I wish I hadn’t. Denzel, I’m sorry I put you in that position. It was so unfair of me.”

Denzel nodded, leaning into Cloud. His frustration with Tifa disappeared, replaced with the tremendous relief that he’d done something right, made something better. _Easier, with Denzel. Now, what does Tifa need to hear?_ He and Denzel sat on the roof for hours, staring up at the sky in thoughtful, comforting silence.

* * *

Downstairs, Tifa flipped the sign in the window to “closed”, sighing as she picked up the broom to sweep. She didn’t understand why she needed to hold onto her anger. It got her nowhere, she knew, and she kept intending on smiling and thanking Cloud for the beautiful pendant, letting things slide back to where they had been. But they’d be in a room together, and he’d say something light, and she couldn’t keep the scathing comments from spilling out of her mouth, swamped by doubt and fear and that dull throbbing she thought she’d left behind her.

So she took her frustration out on the hardwood floor, sweeping it with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in a long time. When that wasn’t enough to abate it, she attacked the tables and countertops, finishing by wiping the mirrored shelf behind the bar so hard she should’ve worn right through the glass. She sat down hard on a barstool, her arms tired. Why couldn’t she let this go? Why couldn’t she just take it with a smile like she told herself she would, despite always being pitted against a memory, but still believing Cloud was worth it? Had she really thought she’d be able to do it forever?

Someone knocked on the entrance to the bar, its curtained glass double–doors already locked. Tifa frowned, crossing the room, prepared to tell another customer who’d had one too many that she was already closed. So when she unlocked the dead bolt, swinging open a door an inch, and saw Barret’s tired face waiting impatiently to be let in, she felt a wave of guilt. She flung open the one door all the way, motioning him inside. “Barret! I completely forgot you were coming!”

He stopped just inside the doorway, straightening because he had to turn sideways to get through the narrow frame. “How’d you forget me, Tifa? I called just a few hours ago!” He brushed past her, setting a dusty bag down on the bartop. Tifa winced. _I just cleaned that._ “Where’s Marlene?”

“She’s already in bed.” Tifa walked up to him, hands in the back pockets of her jeans, relieved he was here. “You seem tired, Barret. Worn out from the hard work?”

He gave a short laugh, so deep in his throat it was almost a grunt. “Hell, yes, I’m tired.” He glanced around. “Place still looks great.”

“Thanks.” She looked up at him, and his irritated expression faded. He held out one arm, and Tifa leaned into his side as he crushed her against him. “I missed you, Barret.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the urge to cry. _Damn it, Barret, why do I always go to pieces around you?_ Because he took care of her, instead of the other way around, for once. _I can’t tell him, or he’ll kill Cloud._ She tried to sniffle quietly.

Barret didn’t fall for it. He took her squarely by the shoulders, holding her out from him at arm’s length. “What the hell’s the matter? What’d Spikey do now?”

She shook her head, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, blinking back the tears. “I’m not sure if it’s him or me, this time.”

He regarded her suspiciously. This was not the reaction she’d expected; where was the storming? The overprotective sputtering and immediate switch from arm to gun? “Tifa, what’s goin’ on?”

“I’m just glad you’re here, Barret. It’s been a bad week.” She tried to smile and failed miserably. “It’s not a big deal.”

He openly scoffed at her. “No big deal, my ass.” He leaned down, eye to eye, and jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t make me take care of it myself, girl. ‘Cause you know I don’t spare no kindness when it comes to my family.” He leaned back again, arms crossed.

Tifa cringed. “I’m a full–grown woman, Barret.”

“And you still ain’t takin’ care of business.” He softened his voice a little. “And if I know one thing, it’s that you gotta cherish what you got.” She nodded, dropping her chin. “So where’s my little girl?”

Tifa raised her face. “Upstairs. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

He gave a booming laugh. “Got you that worked up, eh?” He turned, picking his bag up from the bar. “I’ll be here for a few days, I guess, ‘fore heading back to Corel. Time enough to distract the kids.” He shot her a glance. “I love ya, darlin’, and I just want what’s best for both of ya.” He crossed into the house, and Tifa stood there, wondering who he was referring to.

* * *

Hargo, clad in lab coat and reading glasses, leaned back in her chair, staring in disbelief at her flickering computer screen. “I have never seen a crystal such as this before…” She didn’t even spare a glance at Vincent before leaning back in, scrolling furiously. “It’s been formed by a mako fountain directly, instead of the usual trickle effect. My god, the power in this…” She stopped clicking the mouse. “It’s almost like materia. If it had been concentrated just a bit more, it would be. But the impurity of it prevented it from becoming materia.” _Quelling impurity…_ “If it had not been contaminated, it would have been, quite possibly, as powerful of a materia as Meteor or Holy.” She pushed herself away from the desk, shaking her head.

Unconsciously, Vincent lifted one hand and touched it lightly to his chest. _If she only knew what I contained…_ Is that what the Protomateria was, then? He wasn’t familiar with its origins. Was it purified G substance? “So what does this mean?”

She sat back again, wheeled desk chair creaking on its hinges. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, and Vincent realized that she was not just Knotwood’s colleague. Most likely, Vincent began to understand as he studied her features deeper, she was his sister.

“It means that, since it is such a powerful crystal, the frequency that will be required is dangerously high–pitched and complex, something my machine may not be able to emulate at its current model. Even if it could, it would most likely kill your friend by disrupting her brainwaves before releasing her.” She slipped her glasses back on, turning back to the computer screen. Vincent followed her every movement with his eyes, knowing she wasn’t finished with her explanation. “I may be able to tune it through a ‘filter crystal’, but I haven’t seen one in years.”

Vincent cocked an eyebrow at her. “Filter crystal? Where are they found?”

She sighed. “If you can get one, I’ll be amazed. But the only place you can find them is in the northern crater.”

_Scarlet’s obnoxious laugh. Tifa’s desperate pleading with Cloud as he handed Sephiroth the Black Materia. The constant pressure as they descended deeper within the planet, fighting to save it as they battled Sephiroth. But the branches, the woven network of crystals he’d been contained in…_

“Vincent?” Hargo stared at him with a concerned expression, perfected by years of motherhood.

He gave her a sharp look. “I can get there.”

She drew her eyebrows together, put off by his evasion. “You’ll retrieve them?”

He nodded, and she described them to him, drawing up a diagram. Clear crystals with ashy black flecks. He strode out of the back room of the item shop. He’d come straight to Hargo as soon as he reached Cosmo Canyon, knowing Nanaki would sense his unease, and Vincent had not wanted to discuss Yuffie Kisaragi. But avoidance was unnecessary; Hargo had informed him that Nanaki had left the valley to fulfill a “spiritual journey”. _So he searches for himself,_ Vincent thought as he flipped open his cell phone, holding down the button to turn it on. _Much like the rest of AVALANCHE._ Thankfully, his message beep remained silent, and he punched in a number from memory.

“Vincent! What the hell’s going on?”

“Cid,” Vincent spoke gravely. “I need a ride to the crater.”

“Uhhh… Vince, buddy, I can’t do that right now.” He spoke to someone in the background. “Shera, breathe, right?” Cid made bizarre huffing noises. “Like the mid–wife said?” Vincent had never heard his rowdy friend sound so… frantic. “Shera’s right gone into labor almost two months early! I… I…” Vincent heard a low moan on Cid’s end of the line. He spoke to Shera again. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ off the damned phone! I’ll call the mid–wife! Can’t you just… hold it in?” Vincent held the phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief. Was Cid really that ignorant of the birthing process? Vincent was an only child and not a father, and even he knew better than that. Cid came back on the line. “I ain’t got no pilot that can fly in those conditions, either… I…”

Vincent’s mind raced. _Who else can fly over the crater?_ It struck him. “Cid. Edge.”

“Yeah, yeah! Give me twenty minutes!” He hung up.

_Cid Highwind, welcome to the wonders of fatherhood._ Vincent tipped his chin down, rubbing his nose against the inside of his collar. He battened down his determination for the undoubtedly difficult conversation ahead.

_Rufus Shin–Ra, I think you owe me a favor._


	12. Domestic Bliss

Vincent stood on the doorstep to Seventh Heaven, staring up at the gold–leaf sign. The curtains on the door were pulled shut, although it was late enough for Tifa to be open. Vincent hesitated before reaching for the elegant, curved handle. He felt neglectful, somehow, and responsible for the gloomy air that was so strong he could feel it outside his friend’s bar door. _I hope everything is all right. Maybe I should have called Cloud back._ But no, he’d been too caught up in his pursuit, and now he feared the family he’d left behind had, indeed, fallen apart in his few weeks’ absence. _I honestly thought Cloud would be able to keep it together. What possibly could have happened?_ And with that sense of foreboding he’d come to know so well, he opened the door and stepped inside.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed there were few customers, despite it being the cocktail hour on a Saturday evening. Tifa stood behind the bar, idly wiping down one spot over and over, her eyes unfocused. When she heard the door’s chime, she glanced up, recognizing Vincent and dropping the rag. She hurried to the end of the counter top. “Vincent! Why didn’t you tell us you were back!” He met her halfway across the bar, and she stopped in front of him. “Is everything all right?” Her eyes widened at the grim look on his face.

He made his way to a stool, leaning into the counter. “Just ran into a few troublesome spots.” She returned to her position behind the bar, pouring him a glass of his favorite red wine. He explained all that had gone on to her, leaving out his glaring doubts and the visit from Yuffie. “Now, I convince Shin–Ra to help me.” He ran one fingertip around the rim of the wineglass, making it hum.

Tifa looked over his shoulder, out the windows facing the street. “So Shera went into labor? So early…” She drew her eyebrows together, face taking on its familiar, concerned expression. “I wonder why Cid didn’t call.”

Vincent smiled into the collar of his cloak. “He was quite… frenetic. I’m sure we’ll hear from him as soon as the child is born.” He raised his gaze, and noticed the pearl pendant nestled between her collarbones. He nodded toward it. “Gift?”

She raised a hand to her throat, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Cloud…” She trailed off, eyes glued to the countertop in, Vincent guessed, shame. He studied her, setting aside his own troubles for a moment. He’d never seen the normally bright, vibrant woman look so… lost, not even when Cloud had been poisoned, not when she’d began to lose hope for his recovery.

Before he could open his mouth to inquire about her troubles, the door banged open, Marlene and Denzel bursting through, and Vincent was surprised to see they were followed by an exhausted Barret. He stopped inside the doorway, giving the gunslinger a piercing glare he couldn’t quite interpret. Alarm shot through Vincent. He had the utmost respect for the larger man, despite their opposite personalities, and could not image what had earned him ire. Marlene also stopped in the doorway, before breaking into excited glee and running full–force toward him. He slid off the stool, dropping to a knee, and she threw herself into his arms. He wrapped the cloak around her, and she snuggled her face into his chest, small hands clutching at his sides.

Vincent held Marlene for a minute, forgetting everything around him as he breathed in the smell from her hair. She was the lifeline to his remaining humanity, and he had missed her, more than he’d comprehended. He gazed down on the top of her head, her arms straining to hold him closer, and he wondered if this clinging was due to whatever had been upsetting the whole household. Judging by the expression on Barret’s rugged face upon seeing Vincent, he guessed it had not gotten any better by his unannounced presence.

Marlene pulled back, top of her hair ruffled from his cloak, pink ribbon askew, cloak still draped over her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re back, Vincent. Did you save her?” Marlene glanced around the bar, as if someone would appear.

He pulled his collar down with his clawed hand carefully, so she could see his smile. “Not yet.”

She gave him a resolute nod, and noticed her stuffed doll in one of the inner pockets. “Moogle!” She exclaimed. “You did keep him!”

Vincent dropped his arm off her shoulders, pulling out the toy. “Of course, I did. He’s a little dirty, but none the worse for wear.” She clutched it to her, smiling up at him.

Barret’s deep voice broke the moment. “Marlene. Why don’t you take Moogle and Choco and go play in the living room?” Marlene turned to protest, but Barret cut off her response. “Now, Marlene.” She pouted before giving Vincent another smile, picking up Choco, who, Vincent noticed, now sported a red ribbon tied across his forehead and trailing down his back, from where she’d dropped him on the floor. She darted off toward the living room, and Denzel followed her. Vincent gave him a nod and a smile, and Denzel’s mouth curved slightly, obviously concerned with something else.

Barret crossed the room as Vincent stood, sliding back onto the barstool. Barret claimed the one beside him, and Tifa poured him a straight, double whiskey, setting it in front of him. Barret, never suave and always an unassailable presence, took it before telling Tifa, “Thanks, darlin’. Now go make sure them two aren’t getting into any trouble for the next few minutes.”

Tifa gave him a pointed look, but trailed after the children, not questioning Barret. Vincent picked up his wineglass, holding it just under his nose, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. Barret could never be considered a jovial person, but this ominous mood was unlike him. So Vincent waited, taking a sip of his wine. He swirled it, watching the light play off the glass, hinting at the deeper colors of the drink.

Finally, Barret gave a huff and slammed half the whiskey at a gulp, before turning to Vincent. “You left her a total wreck.” Vincent’s eyebrows quirked. Who was he referring to? “Never thought I’d see that damned annoying ninja fall apart like that.”

Vincent started, hold on his wineglass tightening. Yuffie?

Barret, familiar with Vincent’s silences, went on. “She stayed in Corel, waiting for you to show up at that cavern. The only place she knew you’d eventually turn up, ‘specially after I told her what your gloomy ass was up to.” He gave Vincent a sidelong glance. “I don’t mean to make you feel guilty or nuthin’, but she’s real beat up over you. I told her you’re doin’ what ya need to, and she was still upset when I left.” He took another swallow from his glass. “She probably won’t be there when I get back.”

Vincent studied his glass once more. “Thank you. I will amend things with her, as soon as I get the chance.”

Barret stood with a grunt, downing the last of his whiskey, setting the glass back on the counter. “If I gotta give you anything, Vincent, you certainly take care of your shit.” He pounded Vincent on the back once, before turning toward the entrance to the house. “Unlike that goddamned Spikehead…”

Vincent leaned on his elbows, considering. Things had become a mess in a short time. Should he attempt to help Tifa and Cloud? He shook his head. It was time they learned to work out their problems between them. He just didn’t want to see Marlene and Denzel caught between, although Barret’s visit would surely distract them. Barret seemed to be bothered by his own troubles, as well, and Marlene had obviously picked up on that. _I will simply watch out for the children. They have done nothing to deserve this unrest._ Yet he dreaded the outcome of so much distress.

He took his time finishing his wine.

* * *

Tifa was in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea when Denzel came in. He sat down at the table, watching her, and she reached for an extra mug even while asking him, “Hot chocolate?” He nodded, leaning on one hand. She turned her back to him, measuring the cocoa powder into the mug, the kettle on the stove starting to steam, listening to the _clink_ of the spoon against the ceramic.

“Tifa?”

She half–turned to look at him, one eye watching for the kettle to start whistling. “Mmm–hmm?”

“Do you love Cloud?” She paused in reaching for the kettle, before setting it on a different burner. She turned to look at him fully, still leaning on his hand, feet kicking at the legs of the chair. He was dressed in baggy cargo shorts and a t–shirt, and he’d taken to wearing heavy boots, just like Cloud. His blue eyes gleamed up at her, and with the cowlick at his forehead, hair fanned out in all directions, she realized just how much he looked like Cloud had when he was younger. _Back before all this mess. Back when he was just Cloud, no clone, no mako, and I was just Tifa, before death and sadness and this… indecision._ God, she missed that Cloud. He’d just wanted to impress her, by joining SOLDIER, and instead had been ruined by Sephiroth and Hojo and his own self–doubt. When had she started to let that doubt plague her as well?

“Tifa?” She snapped back to reality, and Denzel was just Denzel, now. “The water’ll get cold.”

“Right.” She turned back to the stove, flicking open the cover on the spout. She poured the water over her teabag to let it steep before mixing Denzel’s hot chocolate, bringing both mugs to the table. “That’s a complicated question, Denzel.”

He wrapped his hands around the mug. Those hands, Tifa knew, would soon start to become more of a man’s than a child’s. “I don’t think so.” Denzel looked up at her, his eyes burning. “You love me and Marlene, right?” She nodded slowly. “And Marlene and I love you and Cloud. We’re a family, right?”

She sighed, wanting to change the topic. “Denzel…”

He blazed on. “And Vincent and Barret and Shelke help make up that family, too, right? All the others? So we’re not lonely, even though so many people we love have died.” He gripped the mug, hard enough Tifa was alarmed. He shot his eyes up to her, hooded under his eyebrows, and Tifa could see the faint bags under them. _Oh, god, so much like Cloud._ “Then why are you and Cloud still lonely, without each other?”

She just stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

* * *

Vincent eventually wandered into the living room, where Barret sat with Marlene glued to his side, watching TV. He stood in the doorway, and Marlene looked across the room at him, hopeful expression on her face, and he smiled to himself. Barret grunted, waving a hand at him when he blocked the screen, but Vincent was on the other side quick enough that the larger man didn’t resort to throwing something at him. He sat next to Marlene, tucking one ankle under a knee, and she gave him her big smile, pivoting against Barret to stick her feet into Vincent’s lap. Vincent crossed his arms as she returned her attention to the television, settling herself further into the couch. He gave small snort in mock–indignation at being used as a footrest, but she ignored him, confident in the knowledge that she had every male in the house wrapped around one of her small fingers. Vincent sat back in comfort nonetheless. _I’ll call Shin–Ra tomorrow._

* * *

Cloud banged the side door shut. _Gods, what a long day._ He was surprised to see Tifa and Denzel at the kitchen table, both looking at him as if he’d just been asked a question and hadn’t been paying attention. He opened his mouth to greet them, but the phone began to ring, cutting off any words that might have left his mouth. He reached toward the kitchen counter, picking up the cordless handset, continuing to watch the pair at the table. _All right, I know I’m late._ “Hello?”

“Cloud! Who’s all there?” Cid boomed on the other side.

“Uh… Tifa and Denzel,” Taken aback, he crossed to the archway to the living room, hearing the TV, and was stunned to see the trio sitting there. _When did my house become a damned hotel?_ He waved to his fellow males, and Marlene peeked her head from between them, looking like a baby bird poking its head out from the nest. “And Barret, Marlene, and Vincent, too. Why?”

“Get ‘em all together and put me on speakerphone!”

Tifa and Denzel had wandered up behind him, and he motioned them in front of him with the hand not holding the phone. Vincent, seeing Cloud’s puzzled face, clicked the “off” button on the remote.

Cloud shook his head, hitting the button for speakerphone and holding the handset out in front of him. “You’re on, Cid.”

“Guess what, guys! I’m a daddy!” Cid let out a whoop of joy. “And it’s a fuckin’ boy!”

_Oh, gods…_


	13. Roundabout

“Shin–Ra Incorporated, do you know your extension?”

Vincent halted. _Elena?_ “Rufus Shin–Ra, please.”

A pause on the other end. “The president is not available right now. Can I take a message?”

He’d prepared himself to jump through hoops, however much he disliked it, but he hadn’t expected to be leaping them before he’d even reached the blonde president. “No. Tell him Vincent Valentine needs a favor.” He drummed his clawed hand against the shingles on Tifa’s tilted roof.

“Vincent Valentine?” She was familiar with him, her voice catching, confirming that it was the lady Turk. “I’ll have him give you a call back.”

The drumming stopped. “I’m not getting off this phone until I reach Rufus Shin–Ra.” He leaned forward, intent, patience with the conversation already running thin. _I have too many other things to concern myself with now._ Sunlight slanted into his narrowed eyes. “Elena. We both know he’s there and that I need to talk to him. Please stop wasting my time.”

There was a gulp and a click, and Vincent was greeted with hold music. _“Please hold, your call is important to us…”_ Vincent closed his eyes, imagining the breeze wafting in patience to replace the urge to toss the phone in the air and take it out with a bullet. The image of it scattering over the city in a glittering mess of shards soothed his mind, but only so much.

Thankfully, before he gave into the impulse, a man’s voice came on the line. “Valentine, what can I do for you?”

Vincent leaned back again, claw scraping against rough tiles. Laughter and a loud honk echoed up to him from Edge’s streets below. “I need the services of your pilot and helicopter.”

Another long pause, but unlike the previous stunned air, Rufus was calculating. “Surely your Captain Highwind can accommodate you?”

“His wife gave birth to a son last night, and none of his pilots are skilled enough to reach my destination.”

“Give him my congratulations.” Another pause. “Unfortunately, my helicopter is currently undergoing repairs, and we do not have resources to spare at the moment.”

_For Turks and the people who train them, they are terrible at deception._ Vincent pushed himself to his feet, pacing the edge of the roof, ignoring the pedestrians staring bewilderedly up at him from below. “Then you should inform your pilot not to over exaggerate the state of your affairs when enjoying too many of Tifa’s famous martinis.” _Point, set, match._

The polished diplomat vanished, all pretense gone. “Why should I bother with you?”

The list flooded Vincent’s mind. _Because of the years of service you got out of my father before his death that you never explained, because I was a loyal member of the Turks before one of your deranged scientists turned me into a human experiment, because of the fact I’ve saved the world you’ve nearly ruined twice, because if not for Reeve and the others’ kindness you’d never retain your respectable name._ No, he’d play the trump card. “Tseng and Elena. How are they?”

Rufus gave a cold chuckle. “Still on desk duty.”

That would explain why Elena was manning the office. “Northern crater, tomorrow. I’ll be at your airfield at nine. Make sure Reno is prompt.” Vincent, exasperated by the long conversation, went to hang up.

Rufus spoke again. “I don’t take kindly to being threatened, Valentine.”

Vincent brought the phone back up to his ear. “Good thing that’s not an issue, Shin–Ra,” he told him before clicking off his phone.

* * *

Cloud came home early but irritated, a rarity for him. He hadn’t wanted to come home at all, really, after dealing with bureaucratic bullshit all day, Fenrir making unidentifiable clicking noises, and a cocky customer who insisted on talking to his boss, disbelieving that Cloud was smart enough to run a business. _I only saved your goddamned ass three times and you won’t even treat me with respect?_ He’d wanted to snarl at the man, but refrained, trying to do what was best in the end. Just like how he’d come home anyway, since he’d promised Denzel he would.

So when he slammed the side door, storming into the kitchen only to find it empty, he paused. _Where the hell is everyone?_ Great. He’d bitten the bullet and come home, and now no one was here. Just as well. _I guess I’ll just finish up the paperwork for today._ He took off his heavy boots, leaving them by the door, and went into the bar. It was always closed on Sundays, Tifa’s day off. He looked around. Barret must’ve taken the kids out, but where was she? _Probably shopping for a gift for the baby._ He shrugged to himself, grabbing a beer from Tifa’s stocked refrigerator. _Maybe she’ll come home in a good mood._

He swung open his bedroom door, expecting to kick back, drink his beer, and square away his desk, but instead found Tifa standing in the middle of the sparse room, her back to him, clutching something in her hand. She straightened at the sound of the door, knees locking into that defensive manner, and he caught a glimpse of pink trailing from her fingers. Closing his eyes, he braced himself. _Of all the fuckin’ things that have gone wrong today…_

She turned slowly, her hands shaking, wined eyes wavering. His heart clutched and sputtered, but his anger and pride prevented him from reaching out for her. _Just say it, Tifa. Tell me I’m a bastard so we can move on from there._ She held out the long, silken ribbon. “I… found it changing your sheets.” She trembled so hard he thought she’d crumble apart, a pile of Tifa–dust on his bedroom floor. “You had it… under your bed.” She sat down suddenly, legs folding beneath her, eyes filled with tears, as if she hadn’t realized it was true until she said it out loud. He stood in front of her, stoic, unable to say a word, knowing there was nothing he could do since she’d already reached her own conclusions. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with accusation. “At least Vincent has a chance to bring Lucrecia back. You… you’re never going to let her go, are you? All this talk of us as your family, has it…” She dropped her eyes again, swallowing hard enough to be audible. “It’s all been a lie.” She pounded a fist into the floor, the hardwood planks cracking and splintering under her force. “And I was stupid enough to fall for it again!”

His aggravation spilled over. “And you’re going to make me choose again?” He shook his head, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe this. Just could not believe this. He leaned down, pulled the ribbon from her hands. “You or a memory?” He twined his hands into the ribbon, letting it wrap his fingers together. He buried his face into it, its scent long lost, silk smooth against his five o’clock shadow. “Goddamnit, Tifa, am I not allowed to grieve?”

She stared up at him, tear–tracks down her cheeks, although her anger halted the flow. “We all lost her, too, you know.”

He dropped his hands away from his face. “Don’t you think I know that!” She took a sharp breath, and he covered his eyes with one hand, his voice louder than he’d meant to make it. “But why do I have to choose? You and Barret… all the rest… you can grieve all you want, but I can’t anymore because I let it drag along behind me? Because it almost killed me? Don’t you think, maybe, it’s time for _you_ to let this go?” He shook his head again. “Because I’ve come to terms with it, despite what you think. But I’m not going to forget her and the things she’s done for us because it makes you feel insecure.” He dropped his hand from his eyes, refusing to look at her, bitterness seeping into his voice. “All I’m trying to do is be honest. And it’s not enough, is it?”

Tifa pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face into the top of them. She began to cry, sobs ripping through her, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking. He was taken aback; he’d never seen this from her before. She was always so strong, so together, and watching her cry like her heart had plummeted off a cliff rocked him to the core. It reminded him of how sunny she had been, content with her family, until just a few weeks ago, and how he couldn’t bring that back to her, how he’d let it all boil down to this. _Can’t ever be any good to anyone, can I?_ He pushed the thought out of his mind. He’d made it about himself again, about his grief and his sadness and his needs, and he hated himself for it.

Cloud crouched next to her, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Tifa, I’m sorry I’m so weak… I’m trying so hard…” He sat down, leaning her back against his chest so he could cradle her better. He began to rock her gently, her sobs slowing down.

She spoke without lifting her face from her knees, shaking her head, making her ebony hair spill off her back, sticking to her flushed cheeks. “Cloud… it hurts, so much. My best friends.” She let out a choked sob. “I lost her, and I can’t stand to lose you, too. I can’t block it out anymore.” She lifted a hand and scrubbed it across her face. “I miss her so much…”

Cloud brushed her hair aside and rested his cheek against her shoulder. “I miss her, too…” He leaned into her, just a little, tightening his arms. _Just like I miss you…_

She finally took a shaky breath, raising her face. “I know you’re trying, Cloud, I really do.” She swallowed, throat clogged with tears. “It’s just… hard to change.”

He looked down on her, barely able to see her swollen, burgundy eyes from his angle. He reached out, touched a finger to the pink ribbon tied around her upper arm, mirrored by his own. “Why… have we let this tear us apart? Why didn’t we think to grieve together?”

“Harder, that way.” She sniffled, burying her face further into her knees, her arms still wrapped around them. “I’ve felt so lonely…”

He didn’t hesitate, tugging her to one side and pulling her between his legs as he rested against his bed frame, hardwood floor cold underneath him. She leaned back into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. She clutched at his hands, and they twined their fingers together. She let her head drop back against his shoulder, and he let his face fall forward into the place where her neck met her shoulder, cheek resting against hers, breathing in the salt from her tears and the fragrance of her skin, hair brushing against his neck. He closed his eyes, reveling in her closeness. He’d been so afraid, he’d never allowed himself before.

Although she’d stopped crying, Cloud continued to rock her, and Tifa rubbed her fingers in the grooves between his own, taking shaky breaths. He thought ahead to the heartbreak, to the yelling and tears and slamming doors, all the times he’d undoubtedly walk away when he shouldn’t and all the times she’d turn away from him, the times they’d break all they had molded together and stare at the pieces, baffled by the fact it had fit in the first place and wondering if it was worth the effort to put it back together, and he knew they would anyway, because in the end…

“It’ll all come back to this, Tifa.” He tightened his arms, holding her closer because he never wanted to lose the feeling. “No matter what, it’ll always come back to this.”

She closed her eyes, face tilted toward the ceiling, and he gazed at her profile, lovely despite the lashes stuck together from crying, the tip of her nose bright red. “You promise?” She squeezed his wrists. “It’ll be all right?”

He closed his eyes again, burying his face into her neck. “I promise.”

As soon as he said them, Cloud Strife found those words no longer frightened him.


	14. Brothers in Arms

Reno stood by Shin–Ra’s helicopter, cigarette pressed between his lips, suit jacket unbuttoned and shirt not tucked, as always. He was whistling a nameless tune around his burning cigarette and flipping his open magrod back and forth, almost juggling it. Vincent stood at the top of the stairs to Edge’s helipad, presence unnoticed, and watched the Turk’s display of agility. Reno was tossing it from hand to hand, getting it to make at least three full rotations between catches, hands and weapon both blurs. He made it do a tight flip over his shoulder, catching it behind his back, and flicked it back over, its crackling tip a mere inch from his neck and ear. _He is a Turk, after all._ Vincent knew the group was well–trained, but their weakness was lack of focus, hence why Reno had yet to spot Vincent.

He stepped forward, and the sloppy redhead froze, magrod at ready, peering in Vincent’s direction. Recognizing the gunslinger, Reno granted him a wide grin and lifted a shoe to stub out his half–burnt smoke on the bottom. He tucked it behind his ear. “Hey, Vampy,” he called across the helipad, magrod resting against one shoulder. “You’re late!”

Vincent raised an eyebrow at the epithet, and strode past Reno to the helicopter. He climbed into his seat, beginning to fasten himself in. “It is nine a.m.; I suggest you check your watch.”

Reno looked down at his wrist, and gave a low groan, which turned into an open–mouthed glare in the cloak figure’s direction, an expression only Reno could pull off. He snapped his magrod shut in one fluid movement before strolling over to the pilot’s side and taking his sweet time strapping himself in. “Always gotta bust my balls, stupid AVALANCE…” He muttered under his breath, clicking various buttons and switches. “I thought you had to have a sense of humor to be a Turk.” The engine started, blades beginning their high–speed whirl.

“I am an ex–Turk.” Vincent corrected him, staring straight ahead. “The standards were quite… different then.”

Reno gave a snort, helicopter starting to lift up. “Are you trying to imply somethin’?”

“I meant no offense.”

Reno snorted again, this one resembling laughter. “There you go again, man. Always so serious. Don’t ya ever have any fun?” Reno raised his eyebrows, nudging Vincent’s arm with his elbow. When Vincent ignored him, he sighed, not seeming to pick up on the fact Vincent wasn’t the talkative type. “What’re ya headed to the crater for, anyway? Something to do with that chick of yours?” Vincent gave him a sidelong glance, amused by the Turk referring to Lucrecia as a “chick”. Reno babbled on. “Pretty hot, for a scientist. Looked up her files in the database.” He gave a low whistle. “Never thought brains and beauty ever went together, you know, but she’s certainly fun to look at, and I didn’t understand a damned word of that thesis. But, man, what a geek. Caught yourself a fine one, still.” Vincent resisted the urge to rub his temples as Reno paused to consider. “I like ‘em tough and pretty, like Tifa, you know? She serves a damned fine martini.” Vincent’s glance took on a hard edge. “I know, I know, she’s like your sister. And all hung up over Cloud.” They were gaining altitude, Edge falling away and the Kalm plains a green expanse underneath them. “Too good for me, anyway.”

Vincent chose to continue to ignore him, staring out across the landscape, Midgar zooming toward them, a black splotch of ruined towers and heaping metal, Shin–Ra logo faded from wear. He could just pick up the metallic gleam of Zack’s buster sword, still stuck like a gravestone on the cliff–top overlooking the abandoned city. W.R.O. vehicles crawled across the ground, moving in and out of Midgar, busy salvaging what they could from the past battle and collecting data from the discovered Deepground facilities. Reeve had been so busy lately, Tifa had told him, that he wasn’t answering any of her messages. Vincent wondered about the headlong plunge into work, though. _Shalua had her reason to live._ What if Reeve had lost some of his along with her?

Reno gazed passively down at Midgar as they flew over it, and Vincent took the moment to study the younger man. Flaming red hair, mirroring scars across his cheekbones, grim set to his jaw. Despite Reno’s irritating nature, Vincent held a certain respect for him and his fellow Turks; he’d seen some of his fight with Sephiroth’s clones, and he and Rude had been outmatched yet scrapping like a pair of pitbulls, harmony as partners long since perfected. Tseng and Elena, as well, had resisted the torture by Kadaj and his brothers, not giving up a word until their rescue. If Vincent had to give them anything, they definitely had the sheer tenacity it took to be Turks.

He felt an unexpected pang of longing. He’d loved his days as a Turk, back before the President became careless and power–mad. The adrenaline rush, the determined glee, the drive to be _the best_ in a world of hidden assassins and dangerous calculations. As much as he’d loved it then, he loathed the feeling now, tinged with guilt and regret, knowing the consequences the simplest decisions could hold. Reflecting, he couldn’t believe his own foolishness; when he’d been transferred to Nibelheim to what he thought would be a boring job, all that had changed. Lucrecia had opened his heart, exposing him to everything he’d never wanted to know, Hojo had used that to tear out his humanity, and his own naivety was all he had to blame for it, now.

It swelled up inside of him, so strong he didn’t feel the surge of icy air as they flew over the frozen continent, and he resisted that darkness, reaching for the bright spots: Marlene’s glowing face as she offered him Moogle again, insisting so he wouldn’t be lonely; Tifa hugging him goodbye, telling him to bring Lucrecia back quick because she was tired of worrying, but the hope was restored to her eyes again, and Cloud smiling at him over her shoulder; Barret’s rough clap on the back and gruff words of encouragement. _If only they knew the help they’ve already given me._ And he remembered her words, that torch that he nursed so it’d never go out: _I can come back to you, Vincent._

He opened his eyes, and they were over Icicle Inn already; he’d been caught in internal reverie for nearly half an hour. Reno glanced at him from the corner of his eye, reaching up to pull the goggles off his forehead and into their intended position. “Good, you’re awake. This’ll be where she gets real rough,” Reno gave him a toothy grin, glint in his eyes and hands gripping the steering column tightly. “Hold onto your panties, Vampy.”

Vincent reached up, grabbing onto the support bar that framed the door, just as the first wave of turbulence hit. The helicopter glided then bounced in the wind, windshield obscured by gusts of snow, and Reno let out a whoop before gritting his teeth and grinning manically, enjoying the bumpy ride in the way only a danger–junkie Turk could, grunting and hissing until the helicopter landed forcefully with a whoosh of air and a metallic scrape on the sole flat outcrop of rock at the crater’s edge.

Reno let out a sigh, sitting back as he peeled the goggles off his eyes, turning that crazy grin on a stoic Vincent. “What a ride, huh?” Seeing no reaction, he let out a huff and began to dig in his pocket. He pulled a slender tube out of his pocket, thrusting it at Vincent, who took it with eyebrow raised in question. It had a small clip on the back, and a small button on the top. “Pager.” Reno held up his cell phone, rocking it back and forth in front of Vincent, its screen blank. “No reception, ‘member?” He gave Vincent another grin. “Just hit the button when you’re ‘bout done. It takes a few minutes to get here from Icicle Inn, and they got one fine waitress at the tavern who I owe a visit.” That gleam Vincent had seen when he was talking about Tifa resurfaced. “You know what I mean, bro?” He dropped a wink.

Vincent couldn’t help himself, rolling his eyes at the Turk as he unbuckled and slid out of the helicopter, and he was rewarded with a chuckle and a shrug. “What? It’s no secret that I’m a treacherous bastard. Why do you think I stay away from Tifa? She’d take me apart in an instant.” It was Vincent’s turn to snort. Reno began to lift off again as Vincent ducked under the blades. “See ya later, Vampy.” Another whirl of blades, and the helicopter skimmed across the sky toward Icicle Inn and the unfortunate girl that awaited Reno there.

Vincent tucked the pager into a pocket before eying the steep path into the snowy crater. It would be slow going, he knew, between the rocks and the ice. He pulled his collar up with both hands, blocking the wind that wailed in his ears, blowing a warm breath against the inside fabric. The cold didn’t bother him really; he enjoyed it more than anything else. The strange feeling of painful numbness, aching, tingling nerves, skin blue and so cold it burned. It was a feeling, and Vincent had been devoid of those too long. Not that he’d ever get cold enough to be dangerous. Besides his uncanny ability to heal, Hojo had seen to it that he was resistant to extreme temperatures as well. _I was created to be a weapon, after all. Or, at least, as a precursor to one. Fitting, that he was destroyed by what he created, his failed experiments._ Vincent set a heavy foot into the powdery snow, gazing across the crater, unsure of what waited for him below.

* * *

Cloud opened the side door to see Tifa, barefoot and dressed in shorts and tank top, standing on the cracked pavement she liked to call a patio. The sun blazed down on her, noon high, as she watched Marlene and Denzel disassemble the lean–to they’d built, laughing and goofing off, doing a pathetic job of folding the borrowed blankets. Her jaw was clenched, maroon eyes stern, and as Cloud came to stand beside her, he felt a wave of concern. “Uh–oh. What did they do now?”

She started, giving him a quick glance. “The kids?” She returned to watching them like she expected a wyvern to swoop from the sky and drag them off. “Nothing.”

Cloud drew his eyebrows together. “Tifa…” A chilled breeze blew her hair off her shoulder, and despite the warm sun, she shivered slightly. Summer was fading, giving way to a blustery autumn, and Cloud took in her crossed arms and goosebumps, beginning to worry about her exposed feet. “What’s wrong?”

She gave a soft sigh, eyes softening at the loud giggle coming from Marlene as Denzel made faces at her, and she clutched the blanket they were trying to fold, doubled over. “It’s just… something’s not right.” She shook her head, and he rested one hand on her semi–exposed shoulder. When she leaned into it, he slid his palm across the back of her neck, giving it a light squeeze before dropping his hand onto her opposite shoulder. “I don’t know why, though.” The disconcerted expression haunted her features again, so Cloud tucked her in closer to his side, brushing a kiss across her temple as she brought her inner hand across her chest and up to his, lacing their fingers together. “I just hope everything’s all right with Vincent.”

He looked down at her. “He’ll be fine, Tifa,” he reassured her, although, for an inexplicable reason, he doubted his own words.


	15. Deceit

There were very few things Vincent Valentine simply could not face. As he stood on the edge of the pit at the center of the crater, looking down at the sandy expanse untouched by the biting winds and drifting snow, he was unable to deny the fact that what had happened here over three years ago might be on that thin line. The wind whipped across his shoulders, blowing his hair back, snapping the tattered ends of his cloak. But his face felt no gusts of air; the grains of sand below him lay smooth and flat, not in the dunes it should in such a blustery place. Vincent felt a deep chill creep down his spine. This place was so… _unnatural._ He remembered the feel of the planet’s pulse around him, the sprays of light green as it tried to fill the holes left by Sephiroth. _My lover’s son…_ He swallowed, hard.

It was one thing he wished he’d been able to explain to her, have her chestnut eyes show understanding. _I knew what crimes I was committing, every step of this. I knew what I was destroying, and I chose that path._ He dropped his head back to stare up at the grey blanket of sky, wind once again blowing across his nose, snowflakes catching in his eyelashes, making him blink. _I knew he might’ve been…_

He shook his head against the thoughts. No. She wouldn’t have lied to him. So many things lay twisted, wrecked, and unspoken between them, yet he knew that was a boundary she wouldn’t have crossed. Yet the haze of doubt, that deep–rooted fear he couldn’t shake still followed him, persisting that he examine just how much of a monster he really was. _Any more of a monster than she was, knowing full well what she was doing? Are we so frail that we destroy everything around us, thinking we’re protecting ourselves?_

_Filter crystal, Valentine,_ He reminded himself, _Stick to the basics and retreat from this crypt._ He scanned the sanded bowl, hoping to spot one. They had been no where else in the crater, but this was where the most trauma to the planet had occurred, and according to Hargo’s theories, the place he’d most likely find the sought–after crystals. He crouched on the edge of the drop–off, pointed tips of his boots hanging a few inches over, one hand gripping the rim. There, a glint from the fragmented, shifting light, half–buried on the other side. _Get it and go._

Vincent was poised to spring into the sand when he heard a soft tumble of rock behind him, and he was surprised that he’d underestimated the current generation of his previous employment, but not surprised enough to fail to dodge the sneak attack and use the momentum he already had stored in his legs to throw Reno cleanly over his head and into the sand. The Turk let out a muffled grunt as he landed, green eyes blazing up at Vincent as he landed next to him, planting one foot against the arm holding the magrod, pining Reno down. He cocked Cerberus, having drawn the revolver on the way down, off to one side and slightly behind him, pointed squarely at Elena’s lovely face.

Vincent gave the blonde Turk a short glare, his core hardening against whatever fellowship he might have felt for these ungrateful people. She clenched her magrod in one hand, eyes narrowed, stance closed. He gave a glance to Reno, leaning hard enough on the redhead’s shoulder to make him flinch when he squirmed. “Just what,” Vincent pushed through clenched teeth, “Do you think you are doing?”

Elena chose that slightly inattentive moment to scoot forward, ready to jump to Reno’s aid, and Vincent snapped his face to her, finger tightening on the trigger. Taking advantage, Reno flicked his magrod to his free hand with that assured dexterity Vincent had witnessed that morning. Before any of them had time to blink, a gunshot blasted out, a cloud of sand raining across Reno’s still face, and Elena let out a stifled yelp.

_Treacherous bastard, indeed._ But Vincent could see the smug grin spreading across that face even as the sand obscured it. “Ya missed, Vampy!” He crowed.

Vincent remained unmoved. “I beg to differ.”

And to their mutual surprise, the damaged magrod in Reno’s left hand exploded into a million hissing, crackling, flaming sparks.

“Oh, shit!” Reno’s smug expression vanished on the instant, sleeve of his suit jacket catching fire and quickly spreading up his arm, almost to the shoulder. He twisted against Vincent’s hold, and the gunslinger lifted his foot, reaching up with one hand and undoing his cloak. Reno rolled against the sand, moaning in pain, and Vincent tracked next to him, gun still trained on Elena as she leapt down, and Vincent dropped the heavy cloak on Reno’s fiery arm, smothering it in one fell swoop.

Vincent stepped back as Elena reached Reno’s side, crouching next to him as he whimpered, her nose crinkling against the unholy scent of burnt flesh that rose in the air. Vincent kept them sighted down the topmost barrel. Elena pulled off the cloak, and Reno sat up, leaning against her side as she flicked a knife open, slicing the inside seam of the charred sleeve, peeling it away from his forearm tenderly. She glared up at Vincent as Reno sucked in a sharp breath as the cool air rushed against his burnt skin, bright red and blistering, peeling edges a crisp black. “He needs medical attention.”

Vincent shook his head, pulling back the hammer. “Not until you explain why you attacked me.”

Elena glanced down at Reno, who shook his head, green eyes bright with pain. She pulled out a spiral of clean, white gauze from her pack and began to wind it loosely around Reno’s wound. When she was done, Elena furrowed her brows and turned to Vincent, helping Reno stand. “Rufus doesn’t want you to revive Dr. Crescent.”

Vincent caught a breath. “Why?”

“She has reason to hold a grudge, knows enough information to bring the company down.” _Further than it already is?_ She went on. “If she were able to exert that influence over you…” She stopped as Reno gripped her arm, hard, and she gave him a sharp glance.

“Elena…” He hissed out, “You still talk too much.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes at the pair. “He fears an assassination attempt?” The waver in Elena’s eyes told him all he needed to know. “When I could have killed him while Yuffie and I were evacuating Midgar?” He scoffed at them. “If I wanted that, I simply wouldn’t have saved him.” _Absolutely trickery, that’s all that man is made of._ “With no more blood on my hands.” He tightened the grip on his gun, rage pumping into his veins. _And I am no better than them, for all the things I did as a Turk._ He watched as Elena supported her cohort, the pair of them dangerous and intelligent and attached to each other in so many ways, and still completely unaware of the hardships ahead of them that they would undoubtedly bring crashing down on their own heads, likely leading to them turning against each other one day, because nothing was sacred inside _the company_ , not the employees, not the planet, not the innocent, nothing but the never–filled pocket of the executives and the power they drank from. “Tell me,” Vincent seethed, “Are you happy in your world that doesn’t extend beyond the edges of Rufus Shin–Ra’s lap?”

Elena looked up at his cold eyes, tugging Reno toward the edge, not turning her back. Cerberus remained level on the pair as Vincent watched Elena boost the struggling Reno up the ledge, and he remembered how she’d whimpered as he untied her from her bloodied chair two years ago, but the only words out of her mouth had been inquires of Tseng. _Did he break?_ She asked, over and over.

_I am not born a Turk, but I will die a Turk._ He’d been twenty–five when he’d taken that oath, and he’d spent two guiltless years practicing manipulation and deceit before he’d learned his first hard lesson about life. _And yet I did not die a Turk. I died as Vincent Valentine._

Reno wavered as Elena scrambled up beside him, cradling his injured arm, eyes beginning to glaze. “If it’s any consolation, Vampy,” Reno muttered as Elena dragged him back to his feet, “I wish you the best of luck.”

Vincent gave a snort as Elena shot Reno a strange glance. “Let’s get out of here, Reno.” Reno gave an unbalanced nod, and she hefted him up beside her again and they began the rambling journey out of the crater.

Vincent tucked Cerberus away when they were out of sight, bending down to pick his cloak up, shaking the sand off. There were faint black streaks on the inside from the short–lived fire; he pulled Moogle from his designated pocket to double–check the doll remained unharmed. Seeing nothing wrong, he tucked it back into its pocket with care and buckled the cloak back into place.

Vincent supposed he could not blame Elena and Reno for their actions. Hadn’t he executed similar betrayals without question or regard to morality? The foursome of them showed more potential for reprieve than the Turks had possessed as an institution for generations. _But to attack the man who saved two of their men from further torture and eventual death? Because Rufus wants to tie up loose ends?_ He knew they had been investigating the crater, lying left and right about their intentions to snatch Jenova’s head. But in the wake of Kadaj’s gang’s terrorism and Bahamut’s attack on Edge, the unrivaled bravery and assistance of Shin–Ra had been invaluable; Rufus had thrown himself off a thirty–story building to try to destroy what he’d been so eager to get his hands on, and for the love of Holy, they’d even offered to lend Reeve a hand in both monetary and manpower issues involved in the excavation of Deepground, apologizing for the previous president’s devious plans. _But what are they planning that Lucrecia or I would get in the way of? Another Jenova Project?_ Vincent shook his head. They’d have more than just the two of them to handle; the entirety of AVALANCE and the W.R.O. would be more like it. Reeve had seen to it that while Shin–Ra would never be left wanting, but as a company, it would never see any sort of political or influential power again. Vincent glanced around, knowing it would be a day or more before he made it out of the crater and back into Edge; Reno and Elena would undoubtedly leave him stranded, hiking out the only possibility.

As he turned to glance back the way he had come, he caught the glint again, on the other side of the sunken bowl, and he was reminded of why he had come in the first place. He crossed the sand to uncover the object, prodding the ground with his pointed boots, hoping to stir up multiple crystals. What he found, though, sent a shock through his distracted mind.

It was the slender katana wielded by only one man; the once–glorious Masamune.

Vincent crouched, brushing the sand away from the rusty and slightly bent blade, picking it up solemnly. It had a peculiar and yet graceful weight to it, requiring inhuman strength and precision to handle accurately. As Vincent gripped it in one hand, its impossibly long blade picking up the faint strands of light, he remembered the viciousness Sephiroth had brandished it even in his last moments, filled with loathing. A loathing Vincent could understand all too well.

Vincent Valentine had been afraid that day, afraid to face the man he had helped create with passiveness and the monster he could have easily become if he had not clung to his desperate memories of happiness. What if he had lived a life void of all human warmth, unaware of anything besides battle and deception? Sephiroth had been bred to be a soldier, the ultimate warrior, and he was never given the chance to be otherwise.

Vincent stared down at the sword in his hand, sharp and deadly. _I did not fight you to save the planet, or for my own salvation, or to create truth for Lucrecia._ He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he was pushing himself into avoided territory. _I fought you, I destroyed you, because it was the only way I could save you._ Cloud fought for vengeance, as did the others; they fought that last battle for the future and for themselves, but Vincent had discovered here three years ago that, in the end, none of that mattered to him. He had done it because it was Lucrecia’s son, someone who deserved a fate far different than the one he had been handed, perhaps the truest victim of Hojo’s and Shin–Ra’s need for power. _Another casualty of the company._ All that had happened to him was no one but Hojo’s, Gast’s, Lucrecia’s, and Vincent’s own fault. _I earned my demons; the ones you bore had been undeserved. I destroyed you because it was the only way I could find to put your maddened, unnatural mind to rest, to send it to the one place it might find peace, to the one person who would be capable of forgiveness. I did it for your sake, and for Lucrecia’s, because while I killed my beloved’s treasured son, I also brought you to justice and gave you rest. And the guilt from your creation and your annihilation is the cross I will bear for the rest of my unnatural life, something you will never have to experience, now. All I can hope is that your true mother will see that, and not hate me for it. So maybe there is salvation in this, and truth, as well. But if there is one thing she will never forgive…_ Vincent looked up at the sky, core heavy with whirling doubt, the hazy clouds and the snowflakes falling everywhere but the perfect circle he stood in.

Suddenly, the place looked like a graveyard.

Vincent strode to the center of the bowl, stabbing Masamune into the sand, half–way to the hilt, resting both hands on the wrapped handle. _Sephiroth…_ “May humanity one day remember you as the hero you were meant to be,” Vincent whispered with hushed reverence, “And let not another soul disturb your tomb.”

Vincent stepped back, teeth clenched against the tide of emotion that filled him. _Please, let me leave some of this here, so when I look at Lucrecia, I will not see her son’s pain–wracked face instead of her smiling one._ He curled his fist hard enough to leave half–moons carved into the heel of his palm. _Why do we live while those that deserve this life die?_ He sucked in a breath, suddenly desperate to leave this eerie place. He shuffled his feet through the sand until he found several of the filter crystals, lying a few inches under the topmost layer. He slipped them into his pack and lifted himself back into the wind and snow without a backward glance.


	16. Nightblindness

The full moon had just risen, round and fat as the tropical fruit that hung from the jungle trees surrounding Mideel, every crag and crater almost close enough to touch. Its cold light reflected against the colorless expanse of undisturbed snow, a blank, bright canvas that stretched all the way to the horizon. So bright, in fact, if not for the presence of the moon and the faint sparkling of stars, the night was indistinguishable from the day that had preceded it. Vincent, standing on the edge of the crater looking down on the icy landscape, held up one hand, examining the lines on his palms and across the joints of his fingers, detail undisturbed by shadows. The moon was tinged blue, around the edge that teetered on the wavy mountains, and the wind ruffled the few trees he could see stretched against them.

Vincent had been born under a full moon, a fact significant only to his superstitious mother, something she learned to keep to herself. Grimoire used to scold her whenever she let it show, telling her that the numbers of ravens she saw perched on a wire or how many roses bloomed in the garden could not possibly influence the way life unfolded itself. But Vincent, having spent far more time with her than his father did, still saw it in her: she never hung the laundry on Fridays, always bought fruit in even numbers, crossed her fingers when passing over a bridge. It was a habit he never understood, and yet it stuck with him throughout his years far better than the science his father had taught him.

Vincent lowered his hand, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out his cell phone, frustrated to see that the screen remained blank. He resisted the urge to toss it off the edge of the cliff and watch it clatter down the icy banks, since he knew he’d need it. He wanted to call Cloud and tell him to look into what might be occurring behind Shin–Ra’s closed doors, he wanted to call Cid and tell him to bring the Highwind, so he didn’t have to climb down the glacier. _When I actually need the damned thing…_ the screen remained stubbornly black.

So he began the long climb down the cliffs of the glacier, grateful for his resistance to cold and for the light and smoke coming from Holzoff’s tiny house as guidance. He moved swiftly yet carefully, knowing even his enhanced body would have a hard time recovering from a fall from the height. The moon was smaller, high in the sky by the time he reached the base, and his fingers ached from being constantly curled and crammed into cracks, the pack on his back much heavier from the dense crystals. He paused near the mountaineer’s small cabin, remembering his kindness and advice, and decided not to bother him at this time of night. Besides, he didn’t have any time to spare. He’d reach Icicle Inn just past dawn, giving the Turks a few days lead in whatever their plans may be. Vincent continued across the snow, trudging through snow banks so similar he kept one eye on the stars to make sure he wasn’t getting turned around. If he ended up wandering, he could be lost for days.

_If she exerts that influence over you…_ Elena had not gone into great detail, but what could she mean? That Lucrecia would manipulate him into ill ends? Rufus was obviously afraid that the enhanced ex–Turk and the ex–Shin–Ra scientist would plot his, if not his company’s, demise. _Rufus Shin–Ra must have known about Deepground. Officially, he was kept in the dark, but Scarlet was known for her pillow talk._ Odin knew, she was never quiet about anything else. And Lucrecia was the last scientist involved in the Jenova Project, the other black mark on Shin–Ra’s record. Surely, she was also aware of the experiments used to create the project only known as “G”, the precursor to Deepground. In disposing of Lucrecia and himself, they would be rid of any traces of human experimentation, rid of anyone with dangerous knowledge of their terrible projects. _Using death to bring about a clean slate._

If only he could wish that for himself.

_If she exerts that influence over you…_ The question in Vincent’s mind was not about whether she would, but rather if she could. And he knew it was all too possible. It had taken so little from her to get him wandering across the world, just like he was wandering across these snow plains now, all to find a way to bring her back, leaving behind all he had come to cherish on his own. She was his weakness.

And she had not shown herself to him in weeks. Vincent felt an unexpected surge of resentment fill him, for her and himself as well. _She cast me on a scent, and like the hound I am, I blindly follow it because she commands it. This could lead me off a cliff, and I wouldn’t care._ He pushed his face further into the collar of his cloak, eyes losing focus on the path in front of him as he turned them on himself. _Do this all for a woman whose intentions are unclear?_ Lucrecia hadn’t told him she loved him, not once, despite how many times he had repeated it. None of the holograms or files or memories she had left behind had expressed anything other than kindness and regret.

Vincent gritted his teeth. He’d suspected he had been nothing more than simple indulgence on her part, that afternoon on the hilltop, and even in his desperate infatuation he’d been able to read the confliction in her eyes. She had been holding back while he tried to give her everything he could.

_Stop it! Just stop it!_ Vincent came to a dead stop as her voice echoed in his mind, boots scraping brutally against the icy ground. _If this is just about me, then yes, I’m sure!_ And he respected her decision, unable to protect the last bit of purity in the whole warped scenario. _Sephiroth… We’ve failed you, so many times._ And then when Lucrecia collapsed, and Hojo refused to let anyone near “his project”, and Vincent’s anger had swelled like a tidal wave, and he spent months afterward drugged and groggy, nothing more than another experiment to the both of them.

_By the power of Holy, I am nothing but a fool._ Vincent clenched his fist, leather glove creaking from the cold. _A love–struck fool. She never loved me. I am but a means to an end for her, now and before._ He thought of her laugh, that mischievous glint in her eyes that he loved, the way she clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels. _She knows I love her, and now that she is getting a final task from me, she has no need for me. So I hear nothing, and I still sniff out the trail for her._ _She left me again, and just like before, I pine and sift through the ashes, searching for something to salvage._ Vincent stared up at the cold, hard moon, unable to tell what was clear in its stolen light. _If you are truly sorry, then what compels you to inflict this on me once more?_

_And if I am so weak I’ve let my hope blind me, that I’ve passed over what I’ve discovered in your absence, do I deserve any of what I hold dear?_

A scratch of ice and a low growl from his left, and he broke from his thoughts, hand dropping to the butt of his revolver, turning to face a trio of bandersnatches. Crouched and ready to spring on their prey, their grey pelts blended perfectly into the landscape, nothing but shadows. Vincent slowly began to draw Cerberus, pivoted in a defensive stance, and the wolf in front let out a vicious snarl and leapt at his throat, managing to get close enough he could feel its hot, damp breath pass over his face before he dodged the snapping jaws, drawing Cerberus fully and sending the contents of the wolf–creature’s skull splattering across the pristine snow, splotches a dark contrast. Fragments of bone exploded backwards, their sharp edges raining slivers of cuts across Vincent’s exposed forehead and cheekbones, and he faced the two remaining fiends, who were completely unperturbed by the loss of their comrade.

Another snarl and they bounded simultaneously, one bounding high after Vincent’ s throat, the other dropping low to snap at his legs. Vincent rounded out a kick, knocking the lower wolf aside with a yelp, but the other one had anticipated Vincent’s deflection and dodged the swipe from his claws, bounding up again to clamp its jagged teeth into his right shoulder. Vincent let out a growl with the pain, sharp and stabbing all the way down to his fingertips, and the bandersnatch dragged him down to the snow, its companion licking its chops and darting in for the final bite at his throat, but between the smell of blood and the gore covering him from the point–blank shot, the pain and the moon and the tension that had already built inside of him, Galian Beast won the inner scramble and pushed up from his cage deep within him, and he let out a true howl as his skin boiled and his joints cracked, the transformation painful as it always had been.

He knocked both bandersnatches away from him with one sweep of his bulky arms, one whimpering, recognizing the smell of an alpha beast, and the other snarling again, angered by loss of prey. Vincent’s hazy mind tried to grasp for control and lost as the Beast cast out its arms, howling and frying both lesser creatures with a blast of lavender lightning. Vincent gasped as his body shrank back into itself, enemy no more, thirst for carnage satiated, enveloped by the crackling aura that signified transformation, the corpses of the bandersnatches bleeding and sizzling a few feet away. He gagged from where he crouched, clawed arm plunged into the snow to steady him, the stench from the burning bodies overwhelming. He pushed to stand himself up, his balance wavering and the flood of exhaustion that always followed an unwelcome change preventing him from reaching his feet, and he staggered to one side, almost falling into the smoking carrion that surrounded him. He managed to stumble a few steps away, falling hard on his knees, leaning his forehead into the snow bank he faced. _I cannot even control the monsters that churn within me, and I hoped to attain a content existence?_ He thought of that first morning with Marlene, when he’d woken with her curled next to him, and how his first panicked thought had been a coherent image of her dismembered figure on the bedroom floor. _And I’d wake like that, every morning, except wondering if it would be Lucrecia. Is that what she wants? To question each night if she’d awaken in the morning to a man or a beast? If only she’d known she had destroyed one when she created the other. We are both fools, Lucrecia, to assume we’d ever live anything other than tainted lies._ He pulled his wet face from the snow, sure now that everything he’d accomplished in the past few weeks had been in vain. The memory of her back to him, moving away, as he reached out toward her and knowing she was nothing more than a hologram. _All I’ll ever have._ And it came again, tearing out his throat, breath melting the snow bank and dribbling freezing water down his forehead, dripping off the end of his nose and onto his lips. “Lucrecia!”

It was nearly an hour before the exhaustion subsided enough for Vincent to rise to his feet, and he began to follow the stars again, feet trudging forward despite the fact his heart wanted to lay in the snow and let the beasts of the glacier and the beasts of his turmoil consume him.

* * *

Vincent reached Icicle Inn a few hours past dawn, the town still sleepy and unwilling to awaken in the uncannily early sunrise. He didn’t even bother to stop in the town, hiking past it and pulling out his phone to call Cid, hoping the preoccupation with the baby had died down, long enough to catch a lift, anyway.

He was vaguely surprised when his phone lit up and the message light didn’t start its frantic blink. He punched in Cid’s number, unsurprised when he answered after several rings with a snarled, “What the _fuck_ do you want?”

“Cid. Vincent. I need someone to pick me up from Icicle Inn.”

A heavy sigh. “Goddamn, Vince. Do you know how long it takes to get a baby to go to sleep?”

Shera mumbled in the background, “And how would you know, Cid? You were out long before he was.”

A slight smile crossed Vincent’s mouth as Cid spoke again. “I’ll be there with the Highwind in half an hour. You gotta meet my kid, though.” Warmth spread through his voice. “You oughtta see it. ‘Bout bent my finger in half, boy’s so strong.” A cough to cover up the sentimentality Cid refused to show. “Northmost green patch, huh? If you’re not there, I’m leavin’ again.” Before Vincent could reply an affirmative, the line went dead. _Cid’s got more than he can handle, looks like._

It took Vincent fifteen minutes to reach the slender jag of land, the northern–most place an airship could land. He took out his phone, leaving a brief message on Cloud’s voicemail. The Highwind, Lady Luck (with the recent addition of a pair of horn–rimmed glasses) painted on the side, crossed into his vision a few seconds later. Cid threw the ladder from the deck, ember from his cigarette glowing faintly, motioning with one hand for Vincent to hurry up. He scaled the rope rungs deftly, slightly nostalgic, and swung his long legs over the railing. Cid was already half–way below deck, undoubtedly striding toward the cockpit, anxious to return to Rocket Town. Vincent followed at a more sedate pace after replacing the ladder, reaching the familiar room as the airship began to lift off again.

Unconsciously, Vincent crossed to his once–accustomed position, down three steps and to the side, up on the small platform. He leaned against the low wall, bracing himself for the swerve south, before he raised his voice against the engine noise. “Thank you, Cid.”

Cid grunted from where he swung the wheel, pausing to punch a few buttons. “No problem.” He grinned. “I was itching for someone to show the kid off too, anyway.”

They landed in the field where the rocket once had been, Cid out and almost to the back door before the engines stopped whirring. While once he would have flung open the back door, instead he cracked it, swinging it open gently and without noise. Vincent followed him down the hall to the living room where Shera sat curled in the couch, robe over her pajamas, T.V. babbling softly, cooing down at the bundle in her arms. She glanced up, warmth lighting up her eyes as she saw her husband, and she smiled at Vincent. “Oh, good.” She rose, careful not to disturb the baby as she passed him over to Cid. “I just fed him. I suspected he’d start fussing for you soon.” She opened her mouth to say something further, but Cid interrupted her, turning toward Vincent, the baby cradled in the crook of his elbow.

“Kid, this is Vince.” He glanced up at Vincent’s wary eyes, unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm. “Vince, this is the next great pilot to ever cross Gaia, ‘cause I’m teaching him to fly before he learns to talk.” He adjusted his grip, sliding his hands under the yawning baby’s arms, holding him gently out so Vincent could see him, blanket dropping to the floor. “Colin Demetrius Highwind.”

Colin, a dusty swath of sandy blonde hair gracing his forehead and luminous, unfocused eyes as blue as his father’s, pulled a slobbery hand from his mouth and smacked Cid on the nose. Cid grunted. “Don’t be mad at me, boy, your momma’s the one that gave you the weird middle name.”

As Shera started to protest, Vincent was startled into a chuckle, but as he observed the adoration in the stare–down between blue eyes, all he could remember was the pair as crimson as his own, cold and unyielding. Shera headed into the kitchen to make breakfast as Cid settled onto the couch, Colin propped up on his lap, blindly swiping at Cid’s fluttering fingers. Vincent lowered himself into one of the Highwinds’ worn armchairs. A new addition to AVALANCHE, as feisty as one could expect from Cid, but instead of feeling mirth, sorrow crept up on Vincent. _Another life I will come to love and watch die._

_Don’t be a fool, boy,_ a memory echoed in his head. _Of course you’ll go into science. You can’t play war games forever._ The sun broke across the windows, lighting up the walls of the living room, dancing with the curtains. Vincent’s face was grim. _But I did, father, and I am still. Forever._ He was afraid, he knew.

_I’m a monster, now. This is what your science did it to me._


	17. The Nightmare Recurs

_I never deserved the chance I received._

It was all too true, Vincent realized as he strode across the spindly bridge between jagged, pointed mountains, almost a full day’s hike from Rocket Town. He done too many things wrong with the life the planet had granted him, long before dooming Sephiroth with his silence, and now the very Lifestream that had crafted him into being was rejecting him, denying him the final peace it had given even to the three clone brothers that had so recently tried to destroy it.

_If there is anything I deserve,_ he thought when he reached the ramshackle mansion that had housed his nightmares for thirty years, _it is to descend back into suffering._

Nibelheim mansion was unchanged since his recent visit, dusty and heartbreakingly elegant with exception to the deep claw marks marring the ceiling and walls from his battle with Deepground’s crafty spider–robot. The chandelier was a web of cracks and barely hanging, inches off the floor, a deep layer of dust covering every available surface, preventing the crystal from shimmering in the faded light. _At least the sewers aren’t crawling with vermin._ He smiled wryly to himself, striding up the rickety stairs, skipping every other one as had been his wont even when he’d spent months here, torn between duty and his desperate courtship. His long legs carried him toward the upper bedroom on the right, the familiar squeak of the floorboard by the chair both comforting and haltingly painful. He stopped in front of the false wall, fingers questing for the latch before sliding it along the track it rested in, and as he descended the twirling planks, it felt nostalgically like coming home.

He’d left Rocket Town in the middle of the night, after spending a day watching Cid and Shera struggle with the throes of newfound parenthood. Altogether, they made a balanced team, and Vincent was confident Colin would grow up as happy as any child could. But all the same, he could not spend another night in someone’s household; he could feel his nightmares and the violence that ensued with them pressing into his brain, between his brows, shooting down his temples and into his jaw like an oncoming migraine. And he would not subject his dearest friends and their baby to that horror; in fact, he’d decided to not unleash those beasts on any of them anymore.

So Vincent stood staring down at the coffin in the center of the locked room of the mansion, where he’d been destroyed and remade and destroyed again, soft, deep violet velvet lining of the coffin both inviting and recoiling, beckoning him back into the tsunami that was sleep and what he’d come to realize were unavoidable nightmares. He reached out, brushed the dust from the lid lying askew next to the coffin, crouching next to it and reaching out to squeeze the plush built–in pillow. It had been something like peace, to lay here and sleep, reveling in those nightmares and the things he’d never be able to change. But how much peace could he have, now, knowing there were those who would miss him, search for him, people whose lives were hinged with his? _Lucrecia,_ he thought, _if you truly wanted to come back, you should have contacted those who knew how to live, instead of one who only knows how to feign death._ He lowered himself into the black, polished coffin, slamming the lid shut, the key to the room’s door pressed tightly into his palm. _Because our punishments remain unchanged._ He stared into the blackness, convinced his confinement was the only way to reassure those he had come to care for, Lucrecia included, would be safe from harm. But something tugged at the corner of his mind even as he closed his eyes, letting that built–up pressure flood into him and Hojo’s deranged laughter fill his mind.

_It really hadn’t been so bad, being with all of you…_

But approximately eight hours later, he cracked his eyes open again, shoving the lid off the coffin violently as he watched Sephiroth’s face contort into Hojo’s, the laughter becoming high–pitched and tinged with the phantom memory of torture. So when he sat up, gasping, and noticed the fresh gouge marks inside the lining, cotton stuffing bulging out, he realized that despite what he wished, he may not be able to sleep like he once had been able to. And part of his mind understood why, although he wanted to deny it. He had slept with the hope that maybe she would speak once again, lull him out of his despair with renewed promises and reassurances of her desires. But she had remained silent still, and he had torn apart his surroundings, and sleep no longer seemed like peace, because he knew he would wake only to be reminded of her missing presence, a gift he never should have received within his dreams. It was ruining him now, this hope he had let seep into himself, poisoning him with its unrealistic whisperings. Because it was there, he could not be consumed by his despair, could not let himself feel the tortured peace he’d been craving, the only peace he deserved.

He spent the rest of the day wandering the mansion, eradicating all traces of Deepground’s presence, until it looked like it had when Cloud and the others had woken him. He deciphered the upstairs safe, following Hojo’s convoluted game, amazed that the man had had the gumption to come back to this mansion to craft such a puzzle when Vincent could have risen any minute and obliterated him. _He must have known that I was too locked in my own regret._ Hojo had not been the brilliant scientist he fashioned himself to be, but he had certainly been a master of manipulating emotions. _As most of the power hungry are._ He even sat down in front of the dilapidated piano with its missing keys, and plucked out a few notes, pondering how such chords could have the power to disintegrate solid crystals. He did not, however, wander into the lab. _It is vivid enough in my nightmares._

But when night fell, he descended the stairs, resting in his coffin again, believing that tonight he would slip back into that timeless sleep. And yet the next morning, that poison spark of hope woke him again. And so the days passed, a mirror of the one before, and Vincent would not let himself believe the rest of his life could be any different.

* * *

_She smiled down at him, and between his shame at slacking on the job and the flicker of joy to be discovered by her, all he managed to do was stammer her name, but then she laughed, and next thing he knew he was gasping into her neck as she dug her nails into his back, long, blissfully painful scratches, and one flailing limb knocked over the bottle of wine and her long hair and the crushed daffodil shining against the grass, a dark red stain spreading over the light–colored blanket, and they lay trembling together, and he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, only to peek them open again as she placed her hands on either side of his face. “Vincent… Don’t close your eyes.” She stared up at him, her own eyes a thin ring of honey around wide pupils blackened by the throbbing that coursed between their exhausted bodies. “They’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” And she crushed her mouth to his, the kiss so rough that their teeth chipped together, all traces of tenderness gone, and he knew it was some sort of goodbye._

_And she was speaking to him, telling him in that harsh voice that whatever they had was over as he stared at his father’s Shin–Ra employee file on her computer screen, telling him to stop it, to just stop it, and the next day he walked into the lab to find her and Hojo pressed against each other in an embrace, one painfully similar to the one he’d shared with her on the hilltop, and three weeks later it was announced she was officially joining the Jenova Project as both a test subject and a scientist after they returned from their honeymoon._

_Oh, gods, the pain, almost worse than her rejection as he watched the blood drain from the hole in his stomach as he lurched toward Hojo, vision swimming black as the long–haired scientist stood back and laughed, and everything blurred into a mixture of glass and injections and the feeling of his joints being torn from their sockets and tendons ripped from bone, wires replacing the nerves in his left arm then abandoned as a futile effort, covered by the claws and a gauntlet. Always the laughter, the laughter echoing against her soft sobs and screams, filling him with loathing and despair and madness, louder and louder and louder and louder…_

And Vincent woke, the lid of the coffin on the other side of the room and Cerberus pressed not into his temple but into his chest, and it wasn’t until his jaw snapped shut and silence filled the small room that he realized he had been screaming. His ears buzzed and his throat was raw, and he clicked back the hammer on his revolver before wondering why it was pressed into his chest. _The protomateria,_ he realized, and he wanted to laugh at his subconscious conceding to his anguish. _If that were destroyed, I’d be unable to control Chaos. And thus I’d be free from my nightmares, in some fashion._ He flopped back against the coffin, right hand still holding Cerberus hanging over the side, staring at the rough ceiling. It was still there, taunting him from the sack he’d tossed to one side, the crystals he’d promised to deliver to Hargo reminding him over and over again that he’d weakened himself into believing he could atone. _Another night wasted,_ he thought as he rose, shaking out his cloak behind him.

He climbed the planked steps toward the mansion’s proper, and on the third step from the top he heard a creak and the wood underneath his foot gave way, cracking out from beneath him, breaking off from the wall. He began to lose his balance, claw scraping against the rock of the wall, and he slipped, falling backwards toward the hole the broken step created. It clattered toward the ground far below him as he snagged his claw into the step in front of him, his body straddled between it and the fourth step. He gazed down at the long fall before he glanced up and pulled himself across the gap, brows furrowed together, eyes focused. From his vantage point level with the floor of the bedroom, he’d spied a box shoved into the far corner under the bed, blending in with the dust that permeated the room. A wooden box that looked suspiciously familiar.

Vincent pulled himself to his feet, crossing the room before kneeling to drag the box out from under the bed. _It couldn’t be…_

It was a small box, maybe a foot wide and a foot long, a few inches deep, completely nondescript except for the expensive and long–vanished weapons dealer logo branded into the hinged top of the wood. _It is._

Vincent sat on the bed with the box on his lap, lifting the lid gently to reveal the revolver he’d believed to be long gone. It was a top model, only a handful made in Gaia, a Hermes WR with three triple–powered materia slots along the mythril long–barrel and an inscription carved into the design of the handle. _May your days as a Turk be long and rewarding. Welcome to the company, son. – G_

He’d almost never used it at first, since he’d been issued a gun along with his acceptance into the Turks, an efficient and adaptable model capable of the many functions of a gun–toting Turk. But he’d used the one his father gave him on the range, marveling at its superior smoothness and finely–tuned abilities, touched by the gift but knowing it was only because he’d joined Shin–Ra, although not as a scientist like his father had planned. Indeed, his father has been livid when he’d learned Vincent had accepted the invitation to the rigorous training grounds, the place where he’d either wash out or be sworn in for life. They’d argued and screamed harsh words at each other, his mother cowering in the kitchen crying as her husband told her only son he was a useless waste of life, suited to the dirty deeds he knew the Turks committed, going to his deserved and early death. Vincent had stormed out, determined not to speak to his father again, but then received the gun after his first successful mission. A few weeks later, as he was planning to return home to thank his father in person and attempt to amend their differences, he received word of his father’s death, due to a “lab–related accident”. He’d thrown himself into work, reading the devoted letters from his mother but refusing to attend the funeral. He didn’t want to watch as others spoke of his father’s goodwill and scientific achievements when all he’d known of him was his absence and harsh admonishment except for one gesture right before his death. He handled his guilt and grief with his missions, throwing aside the company issue semi–automatic for the Hermes WR, each bullet shot from it a reminder of the failure that was his relationship with his late father.

Vincent ran a hand over the revolver, polished, cleaned, and loaded. _I did not leave it in this condition._ Unused bullets littered the rest of the box, and he reached his hand in to grab a handful when his knuckles knocked into something else in the box. He wrapped his fingers around it, pulling out a small, leather bound book. He turned it over in his hand, examining its black cover, a thin strap of leather threaded through the back cover and wrapped around a shiny metal button on the front, holding its pages closed. Vincent unwound it slowly, an uncanny dread filling his heart. The leather binding creaked as he opened it and read the inscription on the first blank page:

_This book belongs to Dr. Lucrecia Crescent. If found, please return to…_ Vincent flipped to the next page, its heading clearly that of a personal journal.

And quickly slammed the heavy cover shut, rising to his feet and returning to the stairs, determined that it had not been placed in that box unintentionally. He was going to read it and put an end to that hope that woke him up each morning.


	18. Memoir

Cloud slammed open the front entrance to the current headquarters of Shin–Ra. The slender brunette serving as the front office’s secretary jumped, almost stumbling out of her chair to ward off the blond warrior. He ignored her as she slammed down the phone in her hand, the voice on the other end still squawking, and began to round the desk. “Sir, you can’t bring that sword in there–“ She got no further as Cloud pushed through the double–doors into the flat office space, the secretary a breath behind him, and he promptly ran into the taller, broader chest of Rude. _Mr. Incognito,_ Cloud mused to himself as he glared up into his reflection in the bald man’s sunglasses.

He began to push past him. “I need to talk to Shin–Ra, and you’re not stopping me.”

A strong hand fell onto his shoulder with a dangerously firm squeeze. There was no thrill of fear or misgiving as Cloud turned to face him, hand up to grasp the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, but his grip relaxed at the Turk’s words. “His office is this way.” Rude turned abruptly to move down a hallway. Cloud followed, full of suspicion.

Rude pushed open a door, holding it open for Cloud to pass through, and Cloud gave him a sidelong glare as he passed him, suspicion confirmed when the door swung shut without Rude following.

The young, blonder president of the world’s most destructive company glanced up idly from the paperwork he was rewarding with his signature. “Cloud. Good to see you. How have you been?” Another quick scrawl across the bottom of a page.

Cloud slammed a hand down on the solid oak desk, a faint splintering sound making Rufus lay his pen down next to the paperwork and lean back, appraising Cloud with a cynical gaze. “We both know why I’m here, Shin–Ra. We haven’t heard from Vincent in over a week, and the last anyone heard was a cryptic message he left me to check up on your shady ass.” Cloud lowered his face, unperturbed by Rufus’s cool expression. “What did you do to him?”

Cloud pulled back, surprised, when Rufus gave a slight chuckle. “Valentine?” He pushed away from his desk, standing and motioning Cloud to the door. “I don’t think it’s a matter of what we did to him, Cloud,” he said as he led the way, “But a matter of what he did to us.”

* * *

Vincent slammed the door behind him, turning in a swirl of cloak, the diary clutched tightly in his hand. _This needs to end, here and now, one way or another._ He gave the room a short glance, undisturbed by the broken coffins and human bones littering the close quarters. Sitting on the ground in front of the door, he leaned against it, the key on the floor beside him. He stared down at the diary, its plain cover giving away none of its secrets. _She is good as dead, by her own will. I cannot disturb the privacy of a person who no longer exists._ And yet, his heart began to pound as he unwound the leather strap that bound it closed, vaguely reminded of the time his father caught him mixing chemicals together in his lab at home to create a makeshift bomb. _This is not what science is for,_ Grimoire had snarled. _Science exists to help others._ Vincent’s mouth curved into a sardonic smudge of a smile. _In the end, father, science existed to help the company._

He cracked open the book, binding creaking once again as if to say hello, and Lucrecia’s loopy cursive sprang out at him. He marveled at her handwriting without reading the words, its smooth precision and friendly appearance, completely unlike the quick, shortened scrawlings of Hojo or the bold, spaced letters of his father’s. _She was not a scientist, in so many ways._ He let his eyes lose focus, his visions blurring the ink into a sea of black and white. _But in the end, she was a scientist, wasn’t she? Using humans as test subjects, completely disregarding the fact I had died to protest that very thing. In keeping me alive, she rejected any chance at martyrdom I may have had._

And he began to flip through the pages, looking for the date he would never forget, the day that had branded him for this excuse of a life, ignoring the faint echo he heard in the back of his mind.

_A man of walking contradictions…_

Ah, there it was. Her headings were simple, plain, but her entries would speak volumes. He bent his head and began to read.

> _February 10 th: _
> 
> _I’ve finally met the new Turk that’s been assigned here to oversee security of the mansion. I don’t think I’ve ever been so shocked in my life._
> 
> _His name is Vincent Valentine. Dr. Valentine’s son. Grimoire…_
> 
> _He doesn’t know, he can’t know, because he looks at me like anyone else does. But he is a Turk, after all, and from what Grimoire told me they weren’t close._
> 
> _But… what am I supposed to do? How can I work around him, continue the research that ultimately killed his father? I guess I’ll just have to ignore it, but…_
> 
> _He has his father’s eyes, those beautiful scarlet eyes. How can ignore those?_

If only she’d known he’d long figured out what had happened. His father had been a thorough, methodical man, well suited to his field. He had not been prone to mistakes. It only served to reason that he had not been the cause of the accident. In fact, his mother had written to tell him that Grimoire had received a posthumous medal for the fact her had saved a young assistant’s life in that accident. It had not been a detail he’d remembered until he came into her lab to see his father’s face on that screen, and as she stormed out, all of it came back to him, clicking into place, lighting up her strange behavior and the murmurs he’d heard like someone had flicked a switch. He’d cursed himself afterward, for not seeing it sooner. The comment she made upon first meeting him. Every dry joke he made, that bittersweet look on her face, and he should’ve known she was remembering his father, their eyes and sense of humor the only things they shared. For the love of Holy, he’d been so blinded by her. Grimly, he skimmed past the scientific notations and everyday exclamations to the next day that meant anything to him.

> _April 29 th:_
> 
> _I… can’t believe what I just did. I’ve been building a friendship with Vincent these past few months, and it’s helped with the grief, but what I just did…_
> 
> _I just wanted to bring him lunch. He’d been out behind the mansion, practicing his marksmanship, all afternoon, so I packed up a lunch to bring out to him, and found him asleep under that wonderful blooming tree I like so much._
> 
> _We had too much wine, because we… oh, god…_
> 
> _… I’ve never experienced anything like that before. And he loves me; I can see it in his eyes. But if he ever found out that I caused his father’s death? I don’t think I’d survive losing him, too._
> 
> _I’m so confused right now._

Just like he’d suspected, he’d been nothing but indulgence to her. But his mind curled around her words: _I’ve never experienced anything like that before._ That stain on the blanket. Had it just been the spilt wine? His mind swam at the implications.

All the same, she regretted her actions, and that’s all he needed to know. She had never loved him. They were friends, and she had cared for him out of guilt for his father’s death. His lip curled upward in disgust at himself and it was all he could do not to snarl at his next thought. _I was nothing but a pity fuck._

Vincent threw the diary at the other side of the room, leaning into his hand and listening to it clatter among the broken coffins. _Is that why you made me recall that day in your cavern, hardly a week ago? To remind me what you had been to me, but what I hadn’t been to you?_

If there were tears slipping between the fingers pressed to his eyes, Vincent would never admit it.

* * *

Reno woke with a low, loud groan; he was in pain, a lot of it, and he wanted everyone around him to know about it. It was only fair; in Reno’s opinion, anyway.

Elena hovered by his bedside as he split open eyes that rather would not have. She put on her brave face, the face that tried to reassure him that, despite the hordes of doctors that have been trooping through Shin–Ra’s sickbay, he was going to be fine. But the way she clutched at his good hand gave her away. _Nice try, ‘Lena._

But when the door to his private room opened and Rufus strolled through, Reno was unsurprised. The president came to visit him often when he was awake, to quiz him and make sure he was retaining memory despite of the painkillers being pumped into his bloodstream. _I may be doped up, I may have lost the use of my left arm permanently, but I am still not dumb, boss._ He gazed up at Elena’s hopeful brown eyes, giving her a waning smile before he noticed the spikes of blonde that normally did not grace his presence. At first, he thought it was a morphine–induced hallucination, but he pulled his head up, blurry eyes taking in the unyielding but concerned look on Cloud’s face. He let his head flop back against the mountain of pillows Elena frequently fluffed for him despite its lack of necessity. _Great, Strife really_ is _here._

“Whadda want?” Reno slurred, playing up the injured act. He had perfectly level conversations with Elena multiple times, but that was not how he wanted this to pan out.

Rufus’s blue eyes narrowed at his incapacitated charge. “Cloud would like to know what happened to his friend Valentine.” Though his tone conveyed friendliness, those eyes that bore into Reno belayed any real trace of it.

Reno glanced at Cloud’s crossed arms. _Ah, yes, Vampy._ He let his eyes rest on the whitewashed ceiling as he felt Elena, still holding his right hand, go still beside him. _I know what to say, boss._ “He… attacked Elena and I, while we were investigating a disturbance at the Northern Crater.” Except for the heightened eyebrows, Cloud gave away no expression. “Shot my magrod. It exploded. Hence the…” He tried to raise his left arm, failing with a sharp intake of breath, Elena springing up to lay a cool hand on his exposed, uninjured shoulder. _Sweet Shiva, that hurts._ Reno ground his teeth together, as much from the pain as the conflicted look in Elena’s eyes, her face turned away from Rufus. _Don’t much like it either, baby._

Rufus gave a _hmph_. “Least he could have done was make it a nice, clean bullet wound.” Cloud’s disbelieving eyes strayed to Rufus. “Instead, Reno has weeks of recovering and therapy, and still no clear prognosis of the use he’ll retain of his arm.”

Reno pushed the breath out through his teeth, feigning ache. Elena still stared down at him while Rufus gave them that calculating glare. Cloud bore into Reno, and Elena turned to Rufus, distracting him with a pointless question as Reno raised his head and gave Cloud one clear, unfazed glance. Cloud’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and Reno dropped his head back again. _Don’t tell me you’ve lost those warrior instincts, Strife._ The door clanged shut, and Reno glanced up to see Rufus with suspicion in his eyes as he turned to follow Cloud out of the room and presumably, out of the building. Elena patted Reno’s good hand, and he gave it a prolonged squeeze, shutting his eyes against the dim light. She sighed and laid her cheek against his bare shoulder, and he savored the warmth of her breath for a moment as she huffed out her nose. _Yeah, yeah,_ He wanted to tell her, _I’ll be fine, and hopefully Vincent will be, too._

* * *

A few hours later, Vincent raised his head. Something was bothering him, wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how much he pushed it aside to wallow in the unadulterated pain that came with the confirmation of her lack of emotion. Reluctantly, he rose, crossing the room to shuffle through the debris to find the discarded journal.

_If she never cared, then why did she save me?_

The irony was not lost on Vincent. He’d deserved to die at that moment, as much as she should’ve died long before giving birth, their deaths the only thing that could save the world from that dark plunge that spiraled down from there. But she’d tried to give him life, tried desperately to recover from the situation. What Vincent wanted to know was why.

_I’m so sorry…_

Elena and Tseng had been grateful to be alive. Tifa barely contained her ecstatic relief when Cloud was revived. Shelke was learning to live again and savoring each new moment. Now Cid and Shera, rejoicing in the birth of their son, another blessing from the Lifestream. Life was a gift, and the world was reveling in it. But…

_I survived, because of you, but… driven by nothing but our own faults… Life became our punishment, Lucrecia. Why did you retain the hope that it might become fruitful, for me? Because it was the only way you could assure your return?_

No, that didn’t make sense. She’d never have sealed herself off in the first place, if that had been the case. _So what has changed?_ He spotted the journal wedged between the wall and a corner of a coffin, retrieving it before retreating back to his spot in front of the door. _And since you’re gone, there’s only one way to find out._ He opened it back up again, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he breathed a sigh of relief.

> _May 16 th:_
> 
> _I’m pregnant, and Hojo and I are getting married next week. Everything’s moved so fast. I’ve been desperately trying to convince myself that I’ve done the right thing. Hojo needs my love so badly, he craves it like a baby cries for its mother after a nightmare. Vincent… I could never live my life with Vincent. He’s too complex. I just hope this way, I can protect them both._
> 
> _And this baby I’m going to have… I guess, in the end, I’ll just have to wait and see._
> 
> _I’ve hardly seen Vincent since that day in my lab. I want to apologize but I just don’t know how to. His eyes have gone cold and distant, and every time I see him…_
> 
> _It’s just like killing Grimoire all over again._

He’d spent almost two months in a drunken stupor trying to ignore the heartache. Whenever he wasn’t at the mansion, nursing a hangover and building that wall of ice inside him, he was in Nibelheim proper getting smashed.

Vincent had known she’d gone to Hojo to protect him, failing miserably, but it had never crossed his mind that she’d done it to protect him, as well. From Hojo, perhaps? But all her regret and concern was focused on the death of his father. From her then? He squeezed his eyes shut. _If only she’d known I’d never blame her… At least my father had died protecting something I loved, even if I didn’t know it yet. It was truly the last gift he left me, unwittingly._ He took in a deep breath as the realization hit him. _If I had been able to tell her that… her grief consumed her, but if she had known that…_ Maybe she would’ve recovered. Odin knew, Vincent had learned from Aerith that each life and each death had a purpose.

And as for Sephiroth… those mako–green eyes and silvered hair had disguised all hint of his natural parentage. No doubt, Jenova had been as much his mother as he’d spent his whole life imagining.

Curiosity not satiated, he skipped to September 13th, a month before his twenty–eighth birthday. To the last day he’d ever known.

The day he’d died.


	19. The Effect of Gravity

Cloud sped through the streets of Edge, circling block after block despite the fact Shin–Ra was a few minutes away from his and Tifa’s home. The whole scene had reeked of deception. Reno had not been as incapacitated as he seemed; in fact, Cloud expected him to be seething with rage at what had been done to him, but instead, he was resigned to it. Like it had been his fault. Elena, as well, was too quiet, as if she’d been instructed not to open her mouth. And Vincent, attacking them without cause? Yeah, right.

Something was fishy at Shin–Ra, and Cloud knew whatever it was, Reno and Elena weren’t all right with it, either.

_If only I can figure out what drove him out of Cid’s house in the middle of the night…_ And something dawned on him, someone who’d be able to help.

Cloud pulled Fenrir in a tight circle, ignoring the honks from cars at his illegal u–turn as he pushed the motorcycle toward Seventh Heaven.

* * *

Vincent scanned the entry, and the one after it, vaguely shocked by disbelief, before shutting the cover and sitting back heavily against the door. He’d remembered her cries as he’d collapsed to the floor, fresh like it had been the previous day, always clinging to his memory. _What have you done?_ But Vincent had always believed Hojo had convinced her to turn him into an experiment, just as he’d done with their baby. It seemed like the only explanation, especially after Shalua’s reaction to his shock at learning he’d been a “product” of her experiments. What other rationalization could there be?

A conflicted one, he now knew.

> _I never told him what his father said when he’d died. His last words… “Tell my son I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? I always wondered, and now I know. Sorry he had saved me instead of himself. I destroyed both their lives, men who loved me and only wanted what’s best, put my well–being before their own. Oh, god, Hojo is not to blame for this. I am. If I’d never become interested in Omega and Chaos, if I’d never let Hojo coerce me into using the baby as an experiment, if I hadn’t submitted to my hormones on that hilltop…_

_No. Don’t regret that, Lucrecia, no matter what. It’s the only beautiful moment you still have._

_I never told him what his father said…_

> _Hojo’s been called to Midgar, probably to officially become head of the Jenova Project. I managed to get Vincent out of his lab and into a support tube in my own, but…_
> 
> _He’s still dying. And there’s only one way to save him…_
> 
> _Damn you, Lucrecia! Oh, god, I never told him his father was sorry. How can I tell him I am?_

He’d known she’d exposed him to the Chaos factor to save him. He’d been glad of it, in the end, after Deepground. It’d been part of the reason he had followed her lead and set off to free her. She’s been right, in a way. Hadn’t they both deserved some happiness, by now?

She was fragmenting, by that point. And despite what she professed, she still seethed with hatred for Hojo. The entries had become sporadic, not longer the consistent, daily musings, but short, conflicted expressions of desperation. The entry after his death was well over a month later, as if between the pregnancy, the pain, and the Jenova cells infecting her body she couldn’t write coherently.

> _November 25 th:_
> 
> _I have to get out of here. Hojo’s becoming more and more mad by the day, threatening me and forcing me to endure far more injections that we’d previously planned._
> 
> _I have to get out, but I can’t leave Vincent._
> 
> _His transformation was… terrifying. But with the Protomateria, he’d retained his normal form. And he’s not just another experiment, Hojo! He’s… much more._
> 
> _But if I leave, I leave him to Hojo’s mercy. With the strength his body now holds… But my baby. I have to save my baby… I feel him churn inside of me, his kicking tearing my stomach apart, and I can feel the lining of my intestinal cavity give way, ripping. It’s excruciating._
> 
> _I’m sorry, Vincent, I have to get away from here… I’m so sorry…_

When he’d read that, he choked back a shout. If only she’d left him for dead, escaped before she’d had too many injections. Why had she stayed behind for his sake, trying to save him when it’d been as much his fault as hers? _Save yourself! Save Sephiroth!_ He wanted to scream across time, as if it would change her mind. _I’m dead… I always have been._ He gritted his teeth, swallowing the swollen lump of his throat, forcing himself to read the last entry, a faint scribble followed by half a book of blank, white pages.

> _December 1 st:_
> 
> _He drugged me… and… induced my labor._
> 
> _Goddamn you, Hojo! I will… not let you live with this…_
> 
> _I’ve uploaded my memories into the computer network. I alerted Shin–Ra to his deranged madness. Please, take my son away from here…_
> 
> _He took my baby, my son… I didn’t get to hold him, not once… My son… he didn’t let me see my son!_
> 
> _Please, please… save him, Vincent. Save him from the monstrosity he’ll become._
> 
> _I've got to… stop Hojo, now._

Oh, by the power of Holy, what had she done? Is that how he’d woken up to a deserted lab, no one in sight? Vincent sucked in a breath far heavier than it should have been, his chest heaving upward like a man taking his last breath. _Lucrecia… what did you do?_ That parental desperation, something he’d seen shine in Barret’s eyes when Sephiroth had nearly obliterated them, that fierce gleam in Cid’s solid blue gaze as he laughed at Colin’s baby antics. It was the most powerful force in the world, drove men to pick up cars and women to become rabid beasts. And Lucrecia, with Jenova cells…

_Oh, gods, what did she do?_

He had no way of knowing, not with all the blank pages and his next memory one of waking up on an operating table to an empty mansion.

Such a twisted, warped circle it made, three people trying to enhance the world and destroying it instead, power–sick and love–blind and guilt–driven, and his dark despair rushed up on him, no longer the welcome force he’d believed it to be, and he felt that spark of hope within him begin to fade and die, and he panicked. Her laugh, those golden–rimmed eyes as she looked up at him, the way she rubbed her stomach absently while he watched her, not speaking, the yellow ribbon and the crushed daffodil, dark–red wine staining his knees, her grimace of pain as she collapsed on the floor of the lab, the smile on her face as she held the picnic baskets out to him in his surprise, all of it began to ebb from his mind and he scrambled for it, suddenly desperate not to let it leave, needing it to thrive. _Can’t lose what you haven’t gained…_

_…I have so much to lose._

It slammed into him, the conflicted wave of hope, despair, desperation… _Overwhelming love can consume you, in the end…_ Vincent slumped forward, breath forced and hurried, claw screeching against the stone of the floor. _I’m so sorry…_ He slammed his head back against the door, pleading with the sharp piercing pain to jar him from this, let the air fill his lungs. _We’d never be the same._ Oh, gods, breath, he needed air… _Please, save him, Vincent…_

His vision blurred, the room becoming a swirl of brown and grey and the violet plush of his coffin, and Vincent opened his mouth only to let out a small moan as it all smacked back into him with the force of a tsunami and he noticed the blood running from his knuckles, forming a dark red smear across the dirty floor. And then his vision focused, too quickly, leaving him dizzy and making his eyes scream from the effort.

The dark red smear of his blood became a stained blanket then became a puddle on a lab floor, vision obscured by the curve of glass…

_He watched blankly as Hojo stood in front of him, hand on his chin thoughtfully, and Vincent knew he was contemplating very, very bad things from the gleam in his eyes. “Yes… She’s done well. You’ll be able to withstand the changes I failed on you before…” He gave a small, sinister chuckle. “Now that’s she’s out of the way…” His expression hardened, and he reached for the latch on the support tube, fingers a mere breath away as the door slammed open behind him._

_And Hojo pulled back, a snarl on his face from being disrupted, and his surprise was almost as great as Vincent’s at the sight before him._

_Lucrecia stood behind him, a waif–like figure compared to her previous shining one, dressed in a non–descript surgery gown, her feet bare and her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, grown–out bangs brushing into her wild eyes, lips bruised and bloodied from her teeth grinding against them. Vincent’s gaze focused on the dribble of blood that ran down the inside of one leg, her knees trembling from the effort to stand, flicking dark–red spots across the ground beneath her, the stream running over the bones of her ankle and pooling on the floor, seeping between her toes, the nails no longer tipped with pink nail polish. “Hojo,” she breathed, “This needs to stop here.”_

_Hojo laughed. Vincent shivered, as did Lucrecia. “And how, my dear, are you going to accomplish that?”_

_Vincent and Hojo both noticed the faint sheen at her side as she raised one hand in the air. The tip of the Hermes WR wavered slightly as she pointed it at Hojo._ Oh, Lu, _Vincent thought,_ Keep it steady. Use your other hand to support the base. _Suddenly he regretted never showing her how to use the gun._

_Hojo laughed again. Vincent tried to raise a hand and could not. Lucrecia’s eyes zeroed in on Hojo, never glancing at Vincent in the tube behind him. “Shoot me? And never know where your precious son has been taken to?”_

_She clicked back the hammer. Her knees still trembled, the blood expanding across the floor. “You don’t know, either. I was the one that had them take him away.”_

_Although Vincent couldn’t see his face, he could hear the rage that flooded Hojo’s voice. “Oh? And you will shoot me to avenge him? Dare I remind you it was as much your choice as mine?”_

_She wavered at that. Hojo pounced, sensing the weakness. “And what will you do with your little experiment, then? Use him to retrieve Sephiroth so the three of you can live in a happy–ever–after?” Hojo’s face went from amused to ugly. “They’re built for battle, Dr. Crescent. They will tear you apart as soon as they get the chance.”_

_Her hand strayed to her now–flat stomach, and she curled her toes into the blood between them. No doubt, she’d only survived the labor due to the Jenova cells inside her. She raised the gun again, shaking her head wildly from side to side, and if Vincent had a breath to catch, he would have. “No! No! I will not let you manipulate me any further!”_

_Hojo held one hand out to her, as if to beckon her closer to him. “But you enjoyed it so thoroughly before.”_

_She sucked in a breath, taking a step backward as if he’d slapped her, and one foot slipped in the puddle of blood as her finger twitched against the trigger, a shot ringing out. Hojo’s body slammed back into the support tube, a crack webbing across Vincent’s immobile vision as the bullet ricocheted against the glass. She crashed to her knees and Hojo moaned from his spot on the floor, and her face split into a sunrise of surprise as she scrambled to her feet, fleeing for the door._

_But she paused before making her final escape, switching her grip on the gun to slip something off a finger. Vincent saw a flash of gold as he heard a ping of metal against metal, and she stopped, her body half–turned toward the debilitated pair of them, sending Vincent a look so full of grief and despair it broke him all over again, her cracked lips parting in the phrase that summed up the entirety of the months they’d spent in the mansion. So sorry…_

_And she was gone._

_He couldn’t tell how many minutes passed before Hojo stirred, stumbling to his feet, a bubble of laughter spilling from his lips and becoming louder and louder as he staggered to a desk, throwing open a drawer and snatching out a stack of sealed gauze pads, ripping them open savagely. His right shoulder was a smudge of bright red, the nape of muscle that connected his neck to his shoulder a garishly raw wound. Vincent could see the smear of blood it had left on the glass that surrounded him, knee level, and when he focused his attention again Hojo was standing in front of him, holding the small, shining ring of gold, still laughing as he pressed the gauze to the wound, stanching the flow of blood. Hojo slipped the ring over the tip of one finger, removing his glasses to examine the lens it had shattered, a nick from the glass oozing a trail of blood down one gaunt cheek._

_Hojo’s laughter cut off abruptly as he raised his gaze to Vincent’s inert form, burning with loathing. “If you had never meddled, boy,” he snarled, turning to pace in front of the tube, “If she had never fallen in love with you or your forsaken father, everything would have gone smoothly.” His eyes flashed as he came to a stop in front of Vincent again. “And there would be no dead Turks or missing scientists and my precious, silver–haired experiment would never have been taken away.” Oh, gods, those eyes burned into him, and Vincent could already feel the pain it would bring before Hojo spoke his next words. “You… you will reap the benefits from this, boy.”_

_Hojo began to laugh again._

Vincent jerked out of his memory, unable to grasp its meaning because of the growl from behind him, at level of his head, on the other side of the door. He swam back up into cognitive consciousness just as the growl developed into a familiar husky voice.

“Vincent, if you don’t open this door, I will burn it down with my tail.”

Nanaki had come to visit.


	20. Dilly-Dally, Shilly-Shally

Vincent didn’t move for a few minutes, unsure if he was hallucinating Nanaki’s voice, until he felt the brief _thwack!_ that was undoubtedly his tail against the door. Despite all the jokes about Nanaki’s tail being no better than a barbeque, he’d seen how Nanaki flicked it around when he was peeved, and Vincent was glad it was on the other side.

He buried his face in his hands again, reminded of when Cid called at exactly the wrong moment while he’d been staying with Cloud and Tifa. _But he made life seem living, didn’t he, despite your irritation?_ Vincent suppressed his cynical inner voice, staring at the coffin that was open in front of him. _I never should’ve come out._

Another _thwack_ and Vincent sighed. “Just let me sleep.”

Nanaki snorted loud enough that the sound carried through the heavy door. “We both know you’re not sleeping, Vincent.” A scratch as Nanaki shifted his claws against the stone floor. “I’d be willing to bet you haven’t been able to, at all.”

Vincent was forced to concede the point. “I’m through, Nanaki.”

“Open the damned door.”

Vincent dragged to his feet, sliding the simple key into its lock and letting the click echo as he unlocked it. He crossed to his coffin, lying down and staring at the ceiling as Nanaki pushed open the door, crossing to Vincent.

_I can’t handle this,_ Vincent thought, trying to devise a way to get Nanaki out quickly and leave him with his perplexing memories. Nanaki sat next to the coffin as Vincent tucked his normal hand under his hair, elbow sticking out of the wooden casket at an awkward angle. Nanaki gazed down at him with patient eyes, and Vincent wondered how such threats had come from the now–peaceful creature. They sat in silence, and Vincent had a clear vision of Nanaki and Bugenhagen and himself, sitting in Bugen’s living room, and he caught a phantom whiff of green tea and Nanaki’s fur, and it was enough to spur him into admittance. “She never loved me.”

Nanaki scoffed, jaw inches from Vincent’s tilted face. “And so you won’t free her, although you told Yuffie she deserved to be, despite her intentions?” Vincent met his gaze, a question in his eyes. “Yes, she told us about your conflict. When no one could get a hold of you, we discussed the last time any of us saw you. Cloud called me after visiting Shin–Ra.”

He’d been at the mansion for not quite two weeks, and already his friends were gathering for reconnaissance. _His friends._ He wondered what would’ve happened if he’d never joined them in the first place, three years ago. Would he still be sleeping here, in this coffin, buried in the weight of his sins?

And should he liberate Lucrecia? _What if I can come back to you, Vincent?_ Had she meant those words? “I am not the one who should free her.”

Nanaki stared down at him with disbelief in his eyes. “You are the only one to free her, Vincent.”

How could that be true? He’d failed to save her. He’d condemned her and her child with his silence. She’d rescued him, cursed him, guided him, but she’d never loved him. “Nanaki…”

The rust–colored creature rose to his paws, pacing down the side of coffin. Vincent was forced to sit up to watch him. Nanaki had been uncertain last time Vincent had spoke with him, unable to find a place in a world he’d never expected to see, caught between age-old duty to protect his canyon and the desire to discover something else. But now, he stood with surety as he eyed his red–cloaked friend, a sleek gleam to his coat, and even his scars and the burned tattoo seemed brighter, more distinctive and less disfiguring. His one good eye shined with clarity. Nanaki seemed balanced, now, something Vincent had never been able to achieve. _How had he…?_ Vincent suddenly felt ashamed. “How was your journey?”

One side of Nanaki’s curved mouth lifted upward as he sat back on his haunches by Vincent’s feet. He sucked in a breath, scarred chest expanding, but he gave Vincent a soft grin. “Her name is Dinne, Vincent. My life’s mate. I found her and several others of my kind, deep within the mountains by Nibelheim. They’ve been living there since the Gi’s attacks. Their tribe was nearly wiped out, and the survivors have barely scratched out a living for years. They believed that my already dwindling tribe had been completely annihilated.”

Vincent could hardly hold back his surprise. So Bugen’s words hadn’t been the rambling of a nearly deadly disease. “That’s incredible, Nanaki.”

Nanaki nodded. “Indeed.” He padded up the other side toward Vincent, locking eyes. “You, Cloud, and I spent quite a lot of time together, back before Meteor.” Vincent nodded, wary of the twist of topic. “Unsure of our paths, disillusioned by our pasts, irrevocably altered by Hojo. And yet all three of us have been…” Nanaki gazed past Vincent’s face for a moment, before returning with the remaining words. “Surprised by what fate gave us. I have come to realize many things, my friend. Life is always a struggle of self–doubt. But certain things can buoy that. Especially us, creatures of long, if not unending, life. We have a need for understanding, far greater than our short–lived counterparts. And Dinne,” Again, the lop–sided smile. “Has granted me that. I will have her by my side, as long as I live, facing the same fear and despair at watching things change and die and be reborn. I’m not afraid of it anymore, Vincent. I have a companion who understands the burden long life carries.”

Vincent dropped his gaze to the floor. He was not a man of many words, and had come to appreciate the same quality in Nanaki. So he listened as his friend continued. “We are so similar, the three of us, watching people we love die protecting us, although we don’t feel we deserve it. I spent most of my life believing my father was a coward, degrading him every chance I received. It was sorrowful to watch my mother die, the truth sealed in her heart.” He shook his shaggy head from side to side. “And I lived out the rest of his warrior’s life for him, much like Cloud is done living for Zack and Aerith. But you are still punishing yourself for the events that took place. You still have so many years ahead of you,” Vincent watched with alarm as the flame–tipped tail began to flip behind him, nearly brushing the dry wood of the broken coffins. “And you cannot take the step forward to ensure they will not be spent alone.”

Vincent lay back again. “I cannot move forward if there is nowhere to go.”

“Do you not believe I regret the years I spent cursing my father?” Nanaki rumbled. The furred face appeared above him, boring into him. “Tifa is right, I suspect. You are more afraid of what joys may lie ahead than the sorrows that are behind you. I never pegged you as one afraid of the unknown, Vincent. Why is this so daunting now?”

Vincent closed his eyes, choosing not to answer.

“Love and hope are intertwined, are they not? One begets the other, meaning nothing if left by themselves. Each step I take, my love of Dinne grows, as does my hope for a recovered future. As love grows, so does hope. They are inseparable, undeniably bound together.”

_Too much hope is the opposite of despair; an overpowering love may consume you in the end._

“And here you are, burying yourself in sorrow again. Is it from fear of love, Vincent? Are you despairing because she may never have loved you, or just afraid of the hope that comes with the acceptance that maybe she has loved you, all along?”

Vincent stood, stepping out of the coffin, and crossed to the open door, striding down the hall to the lab. He was glad to see that Nanaki didn’t follow him. He passed the room littered with books and glass and paper, past the short hallway lined with books. He approached the desk, his golden–tipped boots scattering the rubbish on the floor, and he leaned against it, eyes closed, arms crossed. He reached up to rub the spot between his eyes with the tips of two fingers, running the second knuckle on his thumb up and down the bridge of his nose.

There was too much truth in Nanaki’s words. Vincent glanced around the library destroyed by his lover’s son. _Save him, Vincent._ Had he done that? He remembered flanking Sephiroth in his bizarre form, Cloud, Nanaki, and himself at the frontline as Tifa and Yuffie and Cait Sith pounded away at his left side, Cid and Barret working on the right as the three of them in front took every ounce of damage. Vincent had been bound and determined to die in that fight, sealing his and Sephiroth’s fate. But he stood there, casting cure magic over and over when Nanaki and Cloud wavered, the smell of his gunpowder hanging in the air and Tifa’s battle cries and Yuffie’s enthusiastic ki-eis, Cid’s hoots and hollers ringing out, and when it was over he’d been glad. Glad to see the smiles on his companions’ tired faces. _But did I save him? Would she see it that way, when she learns the truth of his death?_

He recalled in his mind that last look Lucrecia had given him before leaving the mansion. Her grief had sucked her in like a void; it had controlled every movement and decision she made. She was mourning for him, for the loss of his life, although she had restored it as well as she could, and she’d tried to save him and herself, as well. She grieved for her son and his father and Hojo’s madness, but she had also grieved for him. That grief and pain he recognized within himself. All the desperate things they’d done to soothe that grief. _This would never work, would it? We’ve destroyed too much, betrayed too much. I was consumed by my love for you; it distorted until it was no longer pure. I can’t do that again._

“Do you love me, Lucrecia? Is that why I am this monstrosity?” He pinched the bridge of his nose before letting his knuckles slide up to his forehead again, trying to rub away the headache that was seeping into the spot between his brows.

_If she had never loved you…_

Had Hojo known the truth, or was it a skewed version created by his spite and jealousy? Love was as much to blame for this as anything else; how could he be expected to treat it like a gift? If he had never loved her…

_No. Don’t regret that, no matter what. It’s the only beautiful moment you still have…_

How did she know? What had made her write that? If she couldn’t regret it, why should he? It just might be, he agreed, the only beautiful moment they had left. But what was he supposed to do with it, besides mourn? _Back to that again, Valentine?_

His mind whirled, and he closed his eyes, nearly overcome by the complex maze it made. Her voice echoed in the space in his skull. _I’m so sorry…_ How many times would he hear that? _Save him, Vincent…_ Save him from what? Is death the same as peace? _A man of walking contradictions…_ Vincent snapped his eyes open, unfocused on the featureless floor as the weight that filled him crystallized into blinding, perfect clarity. _Is that what you’re afraid of, too much hope?_

_Yes, Lucrecia, it is._

Vincent heard a shuffle and glanced up, startled at Nanaki’s voice from the entryway to the library. “If you can’t come back for her, Vincent, come back for the rest of us.” Nanaki’s somber face gave way to a grin. “Besides, Marlene’ll be missing her moogle by now.” With that barb firmly in place, Nanaki turned to leave, tail swishing in the air.

Vincent was forced to smile. Marlene. He’d nearly forgotten about the plush doll; he’d slept with it every night he’d been in the mansion. _Maybe that’s why I couldn’t fall into deep sleep._ He missed her. Missed the little pointed chin and the way she whipped around Tifa’s house dragging one of her various toys behind her, missed the way she grinned at Denzel when the two of them pulled off a mischievous prank. He needed Marlene more than he’d ever needed Lucrecia; he’d loved the scientist, so much he’d died from it, but Marlene was the anchor that held the life he had down. _No,_ Vincent reminded himself, _They all are._

When Vincent stepped out of the mansion, he adjusted his far–lighter pack, wondering how Nanaki had made off with the crystals, no doubt retrieving them for Hargo. He glanced over the peaceful town, haunted in the moonlight, a place Tifa and Cloud full–heartedly agreed was creepy. He descended into the town, pausing at the well in the middle of the square.

Belatedly, as he was gazing at the stars, he remembered his phone. Reluctantly pulling it out of his inner pocket, he flicked it open to turn it on. Instantly, the message light began its frantic blink, and he hit the button to let them play before his phone told him exactly how many there were.

The first was from Shelke. “Vincent! They found her! They found Shalua! I… can’t leave the clinic, but Reeve told me there’s a chance she may be revived. Visit her for me? I…” She seemed to choke back a sob. “I’m getting my ten years back, Vincent, can you imagine?” She clicked off, leaving Vincent pondering what wonders had occurred with the young girl to make her overcome with emotion. Before he could think too deeply, the next message began.

“Where’d the hell you go, you creepy bastard? Shera was gonna make breakfast!” Cid’s voice dropped. “We’re worried, all right? So call me back to let me know! She makes a damn fine platter, so hurry up.”

“Vincent, it’s Reeve. I haven’t heard from you for a while, but I have news. Excavation crews found Shalua, still alive. It’s amazing. I guess you were right when you told me to never give up, right?” It was the most cheerful Vincent had heard Reeve be since the Deepground fallout. “Looking forward to hearing from you!”

“Vincent. Where are you? We’re concerned.” Indeed, he could hear it in Cloud’s voice as he shushed a questioning Marlene. “No, he didn’t pick up. Call me back, Vincent.”

“Vince… Please don’t tell me you’re at that cave again. I’m sorry about the way I acted. I just want you to know… Go get her, Vincent. Pull yourself out of that damned coffin or regenerate your wounds or whatever it is you do to heal so fast, which is creepy but kinda cool, man I wish I could do that…” As always, Yuffie couldn’t focus. “But Vincent, I get it now. You’re doing what you need to do.” She sighed. “I hate talking to your Leviathan–cursed phone! Pick up or call me back, damn it!”

Vincent felt a faint smile play at his lips before the next message began. “Vincent. Marlene’s so worried sick she won’t get out of bed, and Barret’s pissed about it, you know how protective he is. Cloud and I aren’t much better than her, though.” Tifa paused, her gentle voice taking on a stern edge. “I told Cloud once, and now I’m telling you. Quit running. It’s time to come home, all right? No more dilly–dally. Free her.” Someone called from the background. “We need you.” _Click. End of messages._

Vincent shut his phone, giving the mansion a backward glance. He never wanted to set foot it in again, he knew. It was a blackhole of dark memories. He’d lost two weeks to it, two weeks he could’ve been teaching Denzel sharp–shooting or visiting Shelke or sharing a bottle of whiskey with Cloud and Barret, two weeks he could’ve spent playing with Colin or helping Tifa around the bar, or… _Loving Lucrecia._

How did he miss that simple fact?

He turned northwest, back toward Mt. Nibel, knowing that if he moved fast enough, he could take Cid and Shera up on that breakfast offer, after all.


	21. A Dream and A Memory

_He began to fall into that half–world, pushing into the foggy curtain that separated waking from sleeping, and he could hear her laughing in the distance, fading in and out, untouchable when he focused on the direction. He reached in front of him, his left hand just a hand, wrist covered by a crisp white dress shirt, the cuff rolled over the top of the suit jacket, and he was not startled by this, though he knew he should’ve been._

Where are you, Lucrecia? _He shouted in his mind, but there no sound, only that phantom echo of her laughter, over and over again, like the question repeated to him: Where had she gone? Why had she left him…?_

_The fog parted, and she was there, half–turned away from him, and he closed the fingers on his hand as she turned._

Vincent, _She said, hands clasped behind her back,_ I knew you would come. _Oh, there was that soft, inviting smile as she lifted her chin, and he drew toward her as she beckoned him with those eyes, black pupils ringed by warm, liquid gold, a tipped bottle of wine at her feet, she was standing in a puddle of the dark fluid, and as he got closer he noticed her knees were shaking under her lab coat, and her smile didn’t seem so genuine, her teeth gritting behind it._

I’ll save you, _He told her, outstretching both arms, and she inhaled a deep breath, breaking from her stance and running to him, escaping from the pool of bloodied wine, one hand lifted up toward his face, and he could almost feel it caress the sensitive skin there as he closed his arms to grasp her…_

_… and he was embracing nothing. She had passed through him just like her hologram in the mansion, her ghost a faint intake of air, and he was winded as he turned, finding only empty space and the drifting echo of her laughter again._

Colin began to cry.

It was a long, piercing wailing that cracked like a whip, starting quiet with a few stifled hiccups and increasing into the ear–shattering pitch it was at now, completely obliterating whatever sleep any of the three adults thought they had achieved.

Vincent stared at the living room ceiling as he listened to Cid grumble as he opened his bedroom door, padding across the hallway to console his son. Vincent turned onto his side, wincing as the aged springs of the couch dug into him where the cushions had parted, one foot sticking up off the armrest at an angle and the other fighting for room between the armrest and the edge of the couch. He was tempted to pull the blanket over his head and pretend that the baby wasn’t howling like Mt. Nibel’s wolves at a full moon, the noise echoing through the small house.

Echoing…

Vincent pushed himself upright, swinging his long legs off the edge, the blanket bunching in his lap. Had that been a dream, a memory? He couldn’t form a clear picture in his mind, just laughter that resonated like Hojo’s did in his nightmares, surrounding and blanketing him, but instead of pain and torment, this was twinged with hope and crushing melancholy. It nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t grasp anything other than the feeling it had been somewhere between a dream and a memory.

The light from the kitchen flooded through the archway, illuminating a slice of the living room directly across the couch and into Vincent’s eyes. He narrowed them, refraining from cringing, and stood on silent feet as he heard Cid mutter, “Come on, quiet down…” Another hiccupped sob, a sniff and a choking cry. “There ya go, ya little monster…” Vincent reached the doorway as the microwave beeped, Cid standing in front of it with his back to him, bundle of blue and white perched in the crook of his elbow. Vincent let his feet shuffle a bit, alerting Cid to his presence as he crossed to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

Cid turned, giving Vincent a distracted glance as he glanced at the time on the microwave. He smacked the button to make the door pop open, squeezing a bit of the liquid onto his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot before popping the bottle into Colin’s mouth, ending his fussing as Cid made a cooing noise in distinctly motherly manner.

Vincent closed his eyes. _Will wonders never cease?_ Cid’s chair scratched against the linoleum floor as he pulled it out with one hand, plopping himself into it with all the grace of a muddled dragon. Cid’s eyes were gleaming when Vincent looked at him again, and he glanced down at his son again before leaning into the table. “What? You gonna laugh at me ‘cause I can put Tifa to shame?”

Vincent smiled at his brazen friend. “Good to know Shera’s got the leash tight.”

Cid broke out into a wide grin, reaching out to knock Vincent in the shoulder from across the table, bottle in hand. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Vince.” Colin made another hitched breath, a precursor to a full–blown cry, and Cid was instantly concerned, focused on his child again, peering down at the scrunched up face and waving, tiny fists with affection. “Sorry, little guy.”

Since it was near dawn, Vincent returned to the living room and turned the television to the news, making sure the volume was low. _Shera undoubtedly could use the rest._ Cid, on the other hand, was clinging and clattering in the kitchen, making his morning tea after putting Colin back to bed. Vincent glanced up at Cid’s Venus Gospel crossed with his grandfather’s dragoon lance, the Highwind family crest emblazoned on the plaque that held them together on the wall above the mantle. Vincent had known a few dragoons during his beginning days with Shin–Ra, and all of them had been bold fighters that were impossible to derail, but they moved like… muddled dragons. Vincent snorted at the comparison as Cid joined him in the living room, balancing a pot of tea precariously on a plate, two mugs and a tin full of cream in his other hand. Vincent had long ago realized that there was a small bottle of sugar in nearly every room in Cid’s house; the kitchen, the living room, even his work shed had a vial of the sweet substance. Everyone thought Yuffie had the sweet tooth because of her love of gummy worms; Cid consumed just as much, hidden in his daily doses of tea.

Cid settled onto the couch next to Vincent, pouring him a mug and passing it to him. Vincent nodded his thanks as he sipped it, watching Cid add a measured dose of cream to the dark, bitter substance before dousing it with sugar. He sat back after stirring it and setting the spoon carefully on the plate that held the teapot; he gave Vincent a sidelong glance. “Shera hates the rings and spots I make on the coffee table.” He gave a brief laugh. “Guess you’re right ‘bout the leash, huh?” He shoved a coaster down toward Vincent’s side of the table.

They watched the news, covering stories of the slow rebuilding of Kalm, the discoveries made by W.R.O. forces while digging through Midgar. There was brief footage of Reeve, dressed in his “public figure” costume as he called it, the same long, dark blue coat and regal outfit underneath to match, looking somber as he spoke bolstering words to the remaining citizens of Kalm. He reassured reporters the threat had been eradicated before dodging questions of who quelled the violence like an expert, evading the media who clamored for any story involving the “Heroes of Holy”. Cid snorted when he heard the nickname, and Vincent grimace inwardly. They knew they had saved the world, and all they wanted to do now was live in it; thankfully Reeve had become the public one, the only person who had enough patience to deal with the gossip and attention, keeping the spotlight and media off the others’ backs. Having perfected the split–personality art of diplomatic Reeve and mischievous Cait Sith, they understood that Reeve was a master of slight–of–hand when it came to appearances.

Cid put his bare feet up on the coffee table, leaning deep into the couch. “Hear ‘bout Shalua?” Vincent nodded. “Good kid. Sister, too.” He glanced out the front windows, the sunlight that was beginning to sneak across the pane making his morning stubble glint white–gold against his tanned skin. “I guess they’re taking her to Mideel, since that’s where that doctor is.” Cid flapped a hand in the air, as if to say, _I don’t know nothin’ about that_. “Give me an engine or electronics, and I’ll get ‘er good as new, but a human being?” Cid shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be damned if I even know where to start fixing that.”

Vincent tucked one foot under his knee, bringing the mug to his lips. _Humans can’t be fixed,_ he’d wanted to say, but he doubted his own cynicism now. Cloud and Tifa had made it through their difficulties, Nanaki had found his life’s mate, and even Shalua had a chance to live again. Shelke’s muffled sob of joy at that discovery… _I’m getting my ten years back, Vincent, can you imagine?_

He remembered how Cloud had told him once about seeing Aerith and Zack leaving the church as he stood in the water, revived from the brink of death. Cloud had told him what she’d said, that everything was all right. Cloud told Vincent it was the first time it had ever crossed his mind to feel hopeful.

So maybe Nanaki was right, love and hope were intertwined, a tree that branches the more it grows, brushing against more sky and filling up more ground, mingling its leaves and roots with other plants and creatures, giving as much as it was taking, maybe just a rest in the shade, a nook for a nest, a reprieve from the rain; making a complete circle with its existence. It grounded as it freed, growing as it was given the liberty to, but it was choked to death by second–guessing and doubt and guilt like ivy whose intention is simply to reach the top branches, killing its host as it clamors up, heedless of its life–sucking destruction, leaving the once–majestic tree a withered, hollow shell of what it could have achieved.

And it came to him again, that specter of sadness, the dream that clung to him. He missed her. He was beginning to appreciate this life, this chance she had given him, and instead of mourning for his mistakes and her absence, he was seizing it. He missed her, a deep pang that once reminded him no matter how much he loved, she would always be lost, but now that yearning was lightened. He missed her, but he was going to get her back, regain the years that had vanished. He leaned his head against the back of the couch, letting the mug warm his hands and the rays of sunlight streaming through the glass warm his face, and thought that maybe, for once, he was peaceful.

As Colin began to wail again.


	22. Point of Resolve

“No, no, no,” Tifa scolded, her hands pushing Vincent’s tentative fingers out of the way before dropping him a reassuring smile. “You made the chord minor again.” She leaned forward, fingers expertly stroking the correct keys. “Can you hear the difference?”

Vincent furrowed his brow. He’d known Tifa had her commanding moments – how else could she deal with Marlene and Denzel and even Cloud without them? – but he might have regretted agreeing to learning some basic piano from her to fill the time until Hargo perfected a mobile version of her crystal–tuning machine.

He let out a sigh, his good hand playing down the keys again. Half step, whole step… _Damn._ Tifa sighed, placing her hands on her hips and looking down at Vincent, and sat on the bench in front of the piano tucked into the corner of the living room. “You just can’t help but make that minor, can you?” She leaned down toward him, gently plucking out a soft, quick melody. “And here I thought we bred the sadness out of you.”

He watched her profile from the corner of his eye, her face close to his – and he realized it’d been too long since he’d seen her this way, her smile restored all the way to her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth and words tumbled out. That had been happening to him a lot, these past few weeks or so. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Tifa.”

She froze for just an instant, before she looked hard at him. Sliding onto the piano bench next to him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from the side, leaning into it a little, resting her temple on the point of his shoulder. “It feels so good coming from you.”

Vincent closed his eyes. There had been a point in time where this moment would have felt remarkably foreign and awkward, where he would’ve wondered why, in the name of Holy, he could ever deserve affection – even if it was platonic, even it was as much for her as it was for him – even if it was Tifa. He rested his good hand on her back, pulling her closer to his side for just an instant before gently pulling back. “Thank you, Tifa.”

She leaned away, dropping her arms, still close to his side. “You’re welcome, Vincent.” And proceeded to drill him as thoroughly and exhaustingly in music theory as when he’d been training as a Turk.

* * *

Rufus tried to wave Reno, arm in sling, into a chair. “Reno, have a seat.”

But Reno, as laid–back and lax as he normally was, would have none of it now. “I just came to say one thing, boss.”

Rufus hardly paused from scanning the papers neatly stacked on his desk. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You lay off AVALANCHE, or I walk.”

Rufus finally looked up then, cold blue eyes not amused. “Or you’ll walk?”

“No,” came a deep voice from the doorway, which caused Reno to jump, but he managed to cover it with a sliding grin and a tap of his foot. He didn’t need to turn to see Rude, trademark sunglasses gleaming, behind him. He didn’t turn because he was enjoying the surprised, deer–in–the–headlights look on Rufus’s face. _Ah ha! Take that!_

“No.” Reno did check behind him then, fully aware of why Rufus had been stunned: behind Rude stood Elena, face grim, and next to her, a perfectly collected Tseng.

“We’ll all walk.” Elena stuck her hand on her hip.

“And then Shin–Ra would be in a dire situation, indeed,” finished up the head Turk.

Rufus finally sat back in his cushioned chair, surveying the four of them with keen interest. “And what would you do then?”

Reno leaned forward, bold as ever, close to Rufus’s face. “I dunno, Reeve’s left a sweet standing offer for us. You know,” he flashed his trademark shit–eating grin, “Just in case we ever felt _underappreciated_.”

Rufus chuckled, remembering why he’d kept his Turks around in the first place, too good of a businessman to deny that he’d been had. “Deal.”

* * *

Vincent attempted to turn up a collar that wasn’t there, perturbed by the stirs of autumn winds that were playing with the wisps of hair that couldn’t be contained by one of Tifa’s borrowed hair–ties. His ears, sensitive as they were, caught and focused at every gust that passed them, unused to being so exposed. He tugged at the lapel of the jacket he’d bought before he left Edge, back when he thought his life may have leveled.

Thinking back on it now, he realized he should’ve seen it coming: all the hints Lucrecia had left with Shelke, that constant echo of her apology. She had been trying to tell him something, and he was so wrapped up in his ever–present guilt that he’d missed that strain of hope altogether. But she had left it for him alone, knowing that he would survive; she had done it for _him_. Lucrecia had been there all along, in so many ways. _Because she loves me?_ The thought was still almost too much for Vincent.

But thirty–three years of self–loathing couldn’t be shaken off in a matter of months, and since every day was getting a little better, Vincent was willing to give it a try.

That morning, before his impromptu music lessons, before breakfast even – he’d found himself just on this side of nervous as he descended the steps toward the kitchen, Tifa’s cooking drifting up to him. The play of sunlight through the windows kept catching his eyes, the whistle of the tea kettle too loud for his ears, all because he was anxious and guilty and terrified. He’d left Marlene alone too long, and he’d never forgive himself for it.

But when Vincent stepped through the archway into the kitchen to see her glaring at Denzel, who was making faces at her behind Tifa’s back, wearing a yellow dress and clutching an apple like she was planning on pitching it at her antagonist, all of the burden he carried vanished, just seeing her safe.

“Marlene,” he said softly, just low enough to get her attention, and she spun, dropped her apple, and threw herself halfway across the kitchen at him.

“ _Vincent!_ ” She wailed into his waist, clawing at his belt. “Where have you been?” And much to Vincent’s dismay, she began to sob out of relief and built–up terror.

Instantly, he dropped to his knees and threw his arms around her, aghast at her strong reaction. _I’ve been more selfish than I can imagine, haven’t I?_ Tifa turned from the fridge, her face a mixture of surprise and concern but softening when she saw Marlene buried against Vincent. She raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with him and sending him an _I–told–you–so_ look that made him flinch.

“I… I thought…” Marlene gulped for air, her sobs slowing, “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

Vincent hugged her tighter, her small body shuddering with the strength of her sobs. He’d forgotten that, despite her stubbornness and quick–witted quips, she was still a child and prone to radical conclusions. “Never,” he said into her hair, and she gazed up at him, her eyes gleaming with leftover tears and relief. “I’ll never forget you, Marlene.” She sniffled once, and he held her to his chest again, not caring that she was smearing her nose across his t–shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

And he froze as soon as the words came out, so completely and utterly aware of how foolish he’d been. He’d hurt the one person that anchored him down, the one person who counted on him to care for himself the most – and he knew what it was the drove Lucrecia to her decisions, that blind scramble that had destroyed both of them.

Marlene wrapped thin arms around his ribcage, and Vincent remembered how to breathe – and what it was like to be forgiven. “Thank you, Marlene,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head.

“Breakfast!” Tifa crowed, and Marlene pulled away but kept hold of his good hand, tugging him toward the table.

Cloud came in, kissing Tifa briefly while the kids were busy with plates, and shot Vincent a grin. _Things can work out,_ Vincent reminded himself as Marlene poured an unholy amount of syrup on his pancakes for him. And the five of them settled into breakfast, and Vincent remembered how to be content.

The bell over the door to the small coffee shop chimed as Vincent entered, glancing around to find the person who’d summoned him to the meeting. Not seeing him, Vincent approached the counter, where a young brunette fluttered a smile up at him. “And what can I do for you?”

Vincent was unmoved by her flirting. “I’m looking for a redhead. Male, scars across his cheeks.”

“The one with the loud blonde?” She pointed around the corner. “He’s in a booth back there.”

“Thank you,” Vincent said, turning to go.

“Any time, sugar,” She dropped a wink at him and continued her cleaning.

Reno and Elena were looking cozy in a booth, except for maybe the flask in Reno’s hand. He was adding a heavy dose of whatever it was to his mug, and Elena was scolding him, but Vincent only heard the words _doctor said_ and _not supposed to_. Well, Reno was always looking for trouble, and it was no surprise that he’d find some even while he was injured.

The Turk was quicker this time, spotting Vincent before he’d meant to be seen. “Vince!” Reno waved at him with the flask. “Come have a drink!”

Elena rolled her eyes. “You’re not even supposed to have that in here, Reno.”

Reno gave her a wide grin, which she returned with a warm smile of her own. “But, babe–“

“Don’t you dare ‘babe’ me, Reno,” She spat. “I’m not some floozy you picked up at a bar. I’m a goddamned Turk!” Then she turned to Vincent, all smile, and Vincent couldn’t help but think, _unfortunately for the rest of us, you’re right._

“Have a seat, Vampy.” Reno eyed him as he slid across from them. “Although not so vampy in that get–up.” Considering that Reno looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, the comment made Vincent snort.

“What do you want?” Vincent asked. He wanted to get back to Marlene.

Reno was all business. “I just wanted to let you know that Rufus has agreed to leave AVALANCHE alone.” He lifted his coffee cup. Vincent quirked an eyebrow. _And how did you get him to agree to that?_ He wondered, but decided he didn’t want to know what went on behind Shin–Ra’s doors anymore. “And, uh…” Reno scratched the back of his head, setting his mug down. “I… Well, I wanted to say…”

“We’re sorry,” Elena cut in. “For the crater.”

Vincent leveled a gaze at the two of them, his on–again off–again comrades, and remembered the morning with Marlene. “It’s not a problem.”

“Pals, then?” Reno gave him the grin, and Vincent stared right back. “Um, well, all right then.”

Vincent went to slide out of the booth, but Elena leaned over and caught his arm. “Really, Vincent, best of luck,” She said, and Vincent gave her a nod and stood, hearing Reno say, “Were you flirting with him in front of me?” and Elena respond, “Oh, please, Reno, do you remember the girl that made your coffee?” as he walked away.

_Some things will never change,_ Vincent thought, and was glad of it for once. He strode back into the streets, Edge fully recovered from its latest threat, its citizens resilient and as hard to stamp out as weeds. The roads were packed with cars, people whistled and called out and argued and laughed, and there was such a strong hum to the life around him that Vincent’s core resonated with it. He had a world to share with all the people he knew, and all the ones he still needed to become familiar with: Colin and Dinne and Shalua. Who knew how many others would fill up his life if he let them?

_And I can share it all with you, Lucrecia,_ he thought as church bells chimed in the distance.

He opened up the door to Seventh Heaven, eyes instantly searching for Marlene, since he’d promised he would spend the rest of the day with her. He rounded the corner to the living room and froze when he heard a light voice from the kitchen.

“So, Spike, when are you gonna propose?” _Yuffie._

Vincent paused in the doorway, watching the young ninja swing her legs as she sat at the table, a feat considering her legs were long enough to touch ground. She still didn’t notice him, and neither did Cloud – he had his back turned to the doorway, but Yuffie was zeroed in on the kill. “Because you and Tifa would have adorable babies, you know.” She cocked her head as Cloud continued to ignore her. “And they would grow up and kick all the neighbor kids’ asses, because the greatest ninja of all of Wutai would be training them!” She kicked out a foot. Her enthusiasm made Vincent smile even as he rolled his eyes, and that was when she noticed him.

Yuffie’s legs stopped kicking, and her slender body went still; there was a flash to her eyes. Cloud, even, paused in front of the refrigerator door, and Vincent realized that the instincts they had honed during their travels were all on alert, simply because he had walked into the room. “Yuffie,” he said, “How are you?”

She smiled, still tense. “Doin’ great, really!”

He nodded and crossed to Cloud, who gave him an uncomfortable glance before disappearing from the kitchen. Vincent made himself a cup of tea with the water from Tifa’s ever–present kettle and turned back to Yuffie.

She was not meant to be this on edge. Yuffie was carefree, feisty, the beacon of playfulness and ego. _I’ve left so much damage in my wake._ Before the thought could sting any more and reawaken all the things he’d been trying to leave behind, he sat down in the chair across from her; she was watching him as warily as she had been in Lucrecia’s cavern.

He gripped the mug. “Thank you for the message, Yuffie,” he told her.

Those grey eyes widened. “It’s all right, really, Vince.”

He shook his head. “My words were harsh. I apologize.” He raised his head to meet her eyes, and she stared back. “I know now how important that is.”

Now she was the one to shake her head. “I meant it. It’s all right, Vince.”

The sound of footsteps echoed outside the side door and it burst open, Marlene making a bee–line to Vincent as soon as she saw him. Barret and Denzel were right behind her, but Vincent didn’t have the chance to greet them because Marlene smacked into his side and began pulling on his shirt. “Is the rest of the day for me, Vincent?”

He smiled down at her, unable to help himself. “Yes, Marlene.”

“We,” She stated, “are going to the park, and you are going to push me on the swing. Because,” She shot a look over her shoulder, “someone never pushes me high enough.”

Barret sighed, and Vincent laughed. He stood from his chair as Marlene clapped her hands. “But first, lunch!” She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door again. “There’s this place that Daddy takes me to…”

Vincent got Barret’s eyes over her head. “No tomato,” Barret told him. Vincent nodded and caught Yuffie watching him still, her face so serious that it made his heart twist.

“You can come as well, Denzel, if you’d like,” Vincent said, and Denzel nodded, smiling. Vincent turned to look at Marlene. “I’ll meet you outside.” She sped up the stairs, and Vincent turned back to Yuffie.

He leaned his good hand on the table and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Thank you, Yuffie.”

She smiled up at him, bright again as he pulled away. “Anytime.”

Marlene appeared with stuffed chocobo in tow, and herded him out the door. “Come on, Vincent!” Denzel rolled his eyes at the younger girl and she grinned up at him. “He’ll push you on the swings, too, Denzel, so quit pouting!”

Vincent gave Yuffie a smile as Marlene tugged him out the door, and Barret moved toward the young woman sitting at table as the door shut behind them.

He spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the kids laugh, and hoped that Yuffie was being truthful when she told him it was all right. Vincent realized that there was nothing else in his life he wanted to lose, not even a friendship with the most obnoxious ninja to ever come out of Wutai.


	23. Lucky Men and Banana Bread

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Cloud asked.

Vincent turned his head to look at Cloud, his cheek resting against the blanket thrown across the rough tiles of the roof. Denzel was fast asleep between them, tired from a long day.

“I don’t know,” Vincent admitted. Hargo had called that evening, asking Vincent to arrange transportation to the crystal grotto. Her portable crystal–tuning machine was finished, she assured him, and already run through a battery of tests to ensure success. It had made butterflies flutter and jump in Vincent’s chest, a feeling long forgotten but perpetually in context to Lucrecia.

The two men gazed at the night sky in silence. Denzel muttered, rubbing his cold arms in his sleep – the early autumn night was brisk and chilly – and Cloud sat up and pulled the blanket out from underneath him to sit on the tiles, wrapping the extra fabric around Denzel. Vincent watched as Cloud smiled down at the boy, now soundly asleep. “I never thought…” Cloud began, then cut off, shaking his head. “I brought him home for Tifa. I thought she needed someone to care for, and he needed someone to care for him. I wanted to anchor her down so she wouldn’t chase after me, so I could continue running away. But the thing is,” Cloud reached out and brushed a strand of auburn hair from Denzel’s cheek, “I needed him.” He looked up at Vincent, his wide blue eyes filled with wonder. “He’s the only one out of the whole bunch of us that’s honest with himself.” Cloud shook his head slightly, a smile creeping across his face. “That’s why we do this. Weekly guy–time. Because he needs me, and I need him.” He leaned back again. “And that’s what makes us family.”

_It really is that simple,_ Vincent thought to himself. _My days of naivety are past, but that doesn’t mean it has to be complicated._ “You’re a lucky man, Cloud.”

“Yes, I am,” Cloud grinned and rolled to one side to dig something from his pocket. “And I’m going to get luckier.” He pulled out a sleek, black box and tossed it to Vincent. Nestled inside was a half–carat diamond surrounded by the smoothest, smallest pearls Vincent had ever seen, the silver band shimmering in the faint starlight. “I can’t avoid having Barret as my best man, you know, but will you be a groomsman?” Cloud scratched his head awkwardly. “Of course, that’s assuming she says yes.”

Vincent tossed the box back with a nod, and between them, Denzel grunted contentedly in his slumber. “When?”

Cloud rolled the box between his palms, intent. “I’m not sure. Once I get my courage up.” Cloud took a deep breath. “Honestly, I’d rather face a tonberry.” He glanced at Vincent. “There’s less potential humiliation in that.”

Vincent chuckled softly. “I know what you mean.” He sighed, thinking of Cloud’s earlier question. “I’m not nervous. I’m not afraid. But I’m not ready.”

Cloud reached a hand across the gap to clasp Vincent’s shoulder. “We’ll all be there for you, Vincent. Whatever happens.” He shrugged. “You’re family; we need you. And Lucrecia, she’ll become family too. You’ll always be welcome in my home, Vincent.” Cloud’s eyes flickered down to Denzel again. “You’ll always be welcomed by my family.”

Vincent caught Cloud’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cloud shoved the box back into his pocket as a clattering rose from the metal rungs of the fire escape. Marlene’s bright little face rose above the edge of the roof, ecstatic. “You _guys_! Tifa made banana bread!”

Cloud reached over and hauled her off the ladder as Denzel stirred. “Marlene! You’re not supposed to be on the fire escape!” Denzel sat up as Marlene wriggled her way out of Cloud’s grasp and threw herself at Vincent, tangling herself in the blanket and Vincent’s cloak.

“You hafta try Tifa’s bread!” She exclaimed, staring up at Vincent with wide eyes. “She mashes the bananas all in a bowl and adds sugar and flour and it makes _bread_.” She said it like it was a wonder of the world, and she was obviously perplexed by Cloud’s laugh. Vincent looked down at her and thought, _This child has been deprived of a normal life for too long._

“Let’s go try some bread, Marlene,” he said, holding her with one arm as he climbed down the ladder, his claw scraping at the rungs. Cloud helped Denzel down and the four of them made their way through Cloud’s window to the kitchen, where Tifa was slicing a steaming loaf of banana bread. It was the most delicious thing Vincent had smelled in a long time.

After the kids were settled with thick slices, Cloud leaned against the counter next to Vincent, each cradling pieces of their own. Tifa was pouring milk for the kids at the table, and she glanced over her shoulder and shot Cloud one of those radiant smiles, wide and mischievous and warm. Cloud’s hunk of bread paused halfway to his mouth and Vincent could see his breath catch in his throat as she turned back and slid full glasses in front of oblivious children, enjoying the wonder of fresh–baked bread too thoroughly to notice.

“You’re a lucky man,” Vincent repeated.

Cloud set his napkin down on the counter and glanced at Vincent briefly. “So are you, Vincent. Second chances don’t come often.” And he crossed the kitchen to slide a hand across Tifa’s waist, leaning down to whisper something in her ear and make her blush.

_That could me and Lucrecia,_ Vincent thought, _in this kitchen, until we get our own. These are my friends, my family, but they can be hers as well._ Vincent knew that he would watch them grow old, see them welcomed by the Lifestream; but there was Marlene and Denzel and Colin that were family, and their children, and their children’s children, to look after; and it would bearable, because he would have Lucrecia standing by his side. _I think I’m ready._

* * *

_The birds were chirping, the sun was high, and Vincent stared down at the ring in his hand, a chip of diamond embedded in battered, secondhand gold, as Lucrecia hugged her knees on the blanket in front of him, her eyes lost._ Vincent… _she whispered, eyes huge and glistening with tears._

Why not? _He asked her, angry only because he was heartbroken, the only thing that had ever given him hope shattered into fragments in front of him._ You love me, why not?

_She shook her head._ Please, don’t…

_She had humiliated him in front of the whole town, his fellow Turks, by turning him down while Hojo watched and laughed. Suddenly the sun was too hot, the birds too loud and he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop the flood that was ramming the dams inside him._ You love me! _He caught himself, voice too loud as she cowered, dipped her face against her knees to hide._ You love me, _he repeated softer,_ why not?

Now is not the time, _She said and got to her feet, smearing her eyeliner as she wiped the tears away._ Please, please, don’t do this now.

Now? _Vincent asked, clenching his fist and feeling the useless diamond cut into his palm, sharp and stinging and more real than the woman in front of him, more real because pain was tangible and love wasn’t. Pain was neural pathways and warning signals, something a Turk knew how to control – control that he’d lost once she’d laughed under this tree and slipped her tongue in his mouth and gave up more than she’d meant to give, wine and blood and birds chirping and sunlight burning his eyelids, and she walked away and he watched her knees shake and wondered: when? When can I love you? When will you let me?_

A knock came on his door and Vincent sat upright, startled. The knock was soft and it came from low on the door, and Vincent smile as he came to his feet to open it. Marlene was there, clutching Choco, and Vincent dropped to a knee as she fluttered eyelashes up at him, and he wasn’t sure if she learned that from Yuffie or Tifa.

He raised an eyebrow. “You can assure Choco that I am fine.”

She stuck a lip out. “He wasn’t worried.” Those big, liquid eyes turned up at him. “I was.”

He scooped her up off the floor with one arm, shutting the door with the other, and deposited the young girl on his bed. A hand snaked under his pillow and freed Moogle, and she snatched him from Vincent’s grip and hugged him to her chest. “You sleep with him?”

Vincent smiled. “I do.”

“Can I stay, too?” She asked, yawning.

“Of course,” Vincent told her, no longer afraid of the things that came to him in the night, no longer afraid that his torment would be passed onto others. Marlene promptly began building a fort of pillows and blankets, using the posts of the bed for support. Vincent watched her before she pulled him into the cramped “fort”, poking and prodding him to lay at her bidding until she was content with the arrangement. And then she fell asleep against his chest, Choco and Moogle wedged between them, her little chest rising and falling.

Vincent laid his good hand across her back, content with watching her peaceful face shift and her eyes dart in her sleep. Cloud was right, and Cloud was right more and more often these days: he needed her, she needed him, and that was what made them family. That was what gave him hope.

Vincent fell asleep, a crystal glow washing over him, warm like restoring magic and twice as pleasant. Tomorrow was a second chance, a new life, and it was one with family.


	24. Hope's Overture (The Nightmare's Finale)

Marlene yawned, stretching her little arms out, and knocked Vincent in the nose. He woke with a jolt, perplexed by the sunlight streaming through the blanket Marlene had strung up the night before. Everything in his world, for that confused, unsure moment, was warmth and filtered light and the sleepy giggle of the little girl next to him.

Then Vincent remembered his dream – _what if it happens again?_ – but Marlene pushed her face up near his and whispered like she was sharing secrets of the utmost importance. “Are we going to get her now, Vincent?”

He nodded, wondering if she had preternatural intuition, because he was fairly certain no one explained anything to her besides that they were going on a trip to see a waterfall. “Yes, we are.”

“Is she pretty?” There was a slight pout to her lower lip.

He nodded again. “Almost as pretty as you.” he said, and was surprised by how much the young girl could glow.

He sat up, tossing off the blanket, stretching and trying to trap his heart in its rightful place. _I’m going to get Lucrecia today._ It had been a miserable life, only now made worth the toil. _I’m going to be with her again, today._ It made him feel frightened and apprehensive and amazed, a mix of feelings he was certain he’d never experienced before.

There was a knock on the door, and Marlene called out an all–too–perky, “Come in!” as she wriggled to the floor. Cloud opened the door, a steaming mug in his free hand, which he handed to Vincent. Vincent accepted it gladly, breathing in the earthy smell – _like grass and sky and wine_ – as Cloud sat on the bed next to him. “Cid will be here in a few hours, Hargo with him.” His eyes landed deliberately on Marlene, just now gathering up her assortment of stuffed creatures and shifting from foot to foot on the cold hardwood floor. “We can leave you alone as you get ready.”

Vincent stared at his bare feet, considering. He didn’t think he’d be able to completely calm the whirlpool he was feeling, yet a few moments alone with a mug of tea sounded like the next best thing he could have. “I’d appreciate it.”

Cloud instantly called out to Marlene. “Hey, sweetie, Tifa wants us to help her make breakfast. Let’s go downstairs.”

She reluctantly followed him from the room and, as the door shut behind her, Vincent closed his eyes and let the sunlight warm his face for a moment. _I’m coming for you, and I’m more scared right now than I have ever been before._ But, Bahamut’s breath, he missed her so much it hurt. He’d packed it away, kept it hidden for so long, that it had only just dawned on him that through everything, _everything_ , that was what hurt the most. That he’d never get to see her smile again. All the holograms and apparitions, every memory she’d left with Shelke only made it worse, because it reminded him how miserable she’d been. So miserable she had locked herself into a cave of crystal, unable to forgive herself.

But it’d be a start, he’d learned, to forgive her, to show her that the capacity the world held for happiness was tenfold their ability to destroy it. Let her see Marlene’s sparkling eyes, Denzel’s shy grin, Tifa’s obnoxious whistle as she wiped down tables in her bar. Then she’d know. And while the idea that she still might walk away, pave her own path separate from his, made him ache, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the idea that she would never have a chance to smile again. _If I can manage it, so can you._

Vincent rose from the bed, sipping his tea, and went downstairs to soak up as much joy as he could before facing the hardest and greatest thing he’d ever accomplished.

* * *

Remarkably, Cid had managed to pull together the entire crew, even Reeve. Vincent marveled at the clatter and noise the cast of his life made as they stormed the front room of Tifa’s bar, closed for the day. Yuffie and Tifa were slinging “Welcome back!” signs across strategic points, failure apparently not an option, and Marlene danced circles around the tight ring Cloud and Barret and Cid made, deep in discussion about wind currents and flight paths. Denzel held Colin as Shera hovered nearby, Nanaki gazing steadily at the newborn. Reeve was outside on the front step, laughing into his cell phone.

Cid finally managed to win the argument and got people shuffling out the door, beginning the short walk to the strip where the _Highwind_ was waiting.

It was silent, and Vincent paused long enough to cross to the piano, fingers familiar with the smooth, cool keys after weeks of Tifa’s lessons. He plunked out the chord that wouldn’t click in his brain before, the one Hargo had told him was the final addition to the harmony that would free Lucrecia.

His fingers played naturally, and he realized it had certain buoyancy to it, a bright, happy charm that soothed his mind a little bit.

Yuffie stuck her head in the door, face lit with laughter. “Geez, Vincent, you’re the whole reason we’re together today and you’re lagging behind!” She did a little jump on the step outside the door. “Come _on_!”

He followed her out the door with a smile.

* * *

Vincent caught Hargo’s arm as she was directing her assistants out the cargo bay, everyone else already emptied out of the airship. She turned to face him, her aged face knowledgeable and remarkably kind. “Yes?”

Vincent paused, trying to make sure the words came out right. “Thank you,” was all he managed to say.

She smiled, lifting a hand to pat him on the cheek like a fond grandson. “This world needs more love,” she said as she turned and ducked out of the cargo bay.

It was almost too much, this outpouring of support, seeing his friends lined up giving him encouraging smiles as Hargo directed her crew into the cavern, tarp tight over her machine to avoid the water. Vincent turned to survey them all, trying to keep his face impassive as he swept them up in a glance. He’d never known this before; not in his previous life as a Turk, not until this moment did it finally solidify into his core that all those bright threads that wound them all together, made them intrinsically connected, were the only reason he was brave enough to cross that waterfall and complete this chapter of his life. “Thank you,” he said again, wondering why it had never occurred to him to say it before.

They all eyed him with varying degrees of affection and apprehension. Tifa and Yuffie, twin beacons of optimism. Cid, Barret, Reeve, and Nanaki, solid and unflagging, giving him steady but encouraging stares. Marlene and Denzel, staring wide-eyed and curious at the world around them, oblivious to the drama playing out, because they were surrounded by adults they trusted. Cloud, one hand on Marlene’s shoulder, with a faint smile on his face. He imagined Shelke’s face last time she was up here, her face turned to soak up the sun and the visage of Omega’s ashes hanging in the sky.

It hummed fierce inside him, the outpouring of support and strength and _hope_ , and before it could diminish in the face of his doubts, he turned on his heel and crossed the waterfall.

* * *

“Do you have the next frequency?” Hargo mouthed to her technician, unable to hear because of his headphones. She gave him a curt nod, and another layer of sound played through the probes carefully stuck to the outside of the crystal.

The vibration began to keen off the walls, and Vincent, standing the water a few feet away from Lucrecia, tried not to let his teeth chatter. It was cold and he was anxious; the process took longer than he’d anticipated. They were down to the final layer of crystal, having sloughed it off chunk by chunk, and only the core crystal holding Lucrecia’s form remained.

Hargo had warned him it might take several hours for her to wake up. She had warned him that she might not be the same person. _As far as we know,_ she warned him, _no one has ever been in stasis this long._ Knotwood had sent a team of medics along, armed with high-level cure materia, to make sure she didn’t need any medical attention. He steeled himself for all of it, the worst that could happen according to Hargo and his own runaway imagination. What if her memory was permanently gone? What if she had been injured when she crystallized herself? What if the frequencies hurt her? What if she would never forgive him for being to end of her son? _What if, what if, what if._ It throbbed through his head as he stood there and stared up at her, too many variables for his comfort. All he could hear was his own heavy breathing, echoed through the pair of sound-dampening earmuffs Hargo made him wear.

The medics were poised at the base of her dais, materia out and scanners ready, as the last layer of crystal began to crack and fall as every other layer had done before. Vincent’s heart skyrocketed to his throat as the medics scrambled up to carefully pull the last chunks of crystal from around her, and they brushed dust from her face and carefully lowered her unconscious form to the sand. He waded closer, but one of the medics waved him off as the other picked up a scanner and held it over her torso. _Gods,_ she was so close, she was _right there_ , and he couldn’t touch her until he knew she was safe. It would be too much to hold her in his arms only to discover she wasn’t really there.

The scanner made a merry little beep, and the medic not holding it began to roll a materia between his hands and it started to glow, washing over Lucrecia, a low-level cure spell designed more to soothe sore muscles than to heal genuine damage. The other medic continued to check her breathing, her pulse, lift up her eyelids to check her pupils. After the misty green finally faded from her body, the medics exchanged a glance and stood. One waded past Vincent, pressing something into his hand.

“Snap it under her nose,” he told him, “and it should wake her up. She’s not unconscious, just sleeping very deeply. The scent should rouse her.” Vincent nodded, thankful but unable to trust his voice. Hargo and her assistants peeled off their earphones, retrieved the snaky ropes of wire, and began to pack up the machine. He could never thank her enough. No matter what happened now, she was a near-stranger that had treated him as one of her own and given him the one thing he never thought he’d have again. _This chance._

Hargo mouthed _good luck_ to him as they carted the machine back under the waterfall, the medics right behind her. He was alone with Lucrecia.

He was afraid to approach her. Afraid that it was all a lie, that this was just another one of his demented dreams. He wanted to crouch next to her, brush the hair from her eyes and coax her awake, but he was frozen. But then his eyes caught a flash of pink and he glanced down at the surface of the water to see the fleetingest glance of Aerith’s smiling, encouraging face, and his warmth came back. He broke the still surface to kneel by Lucrecia, snapping the small tube under her nose and smelled a heavy, pungent scent that could wake the dead. Then he took a step back.

She stirred, her breath catching as she curled up then stretched out again, her eyes fluttering as they adjusted to the light. Finally, she slowly opened her eyes and sat up, confusion and astonishment and near-panic on her face, tugging her skirt over her knees and shivering in the chilly air.

Then she caught sight of Vincent, stock still not three feet from her.

Her reached out, weakly, still afraid to touch her. She could shatter like the crystal that tortured them so long. She looked so fragile; they both were. Vincent could feel the world reforming beneath his feet. What would happen now? Could it all still be worth it if she gave him nothing but a smile and disappeared from his life again? How could her survive without her motivating him forward? But then he thought of the entourage that waited for them outside. _Family._

Carefully, not taking her eyes from his, she stretched her legs out and gave her toes an experimental wiggle, her face amazed. She stood slowly but lost her balance, and then Vincent did touch her, taking her arm so she wouldn’t crumple, and then she was in his arms. Startled by his own reaction, he realized he was kissing her – he couldn’t stop – planting his lips eagerly against her cheekbones, her eyelids, her jawline, the tip of her cold nose. He cupped his hands against her face and felt her hands slide across his hips to the small of his back. She sighed against his cheek, a noise of contentment and relief, and it felt so good it made him dizzy. He still expected to wake up from this, any moment, to learn that the past few months had been an elaborate dream.

Vincent stopped kissing her to lay his forehead against hers, just like that day on the hilltop in Nibelheim. A day, a feeling he thought he’d never have again. _The last beautiful moment we had together,_ he thought, gazing into her golden eyes, _but hopefully this starts many more._

“Vincent, how I’ve missed you,” she breathed, her voice wispy and faint from disuse. Her hands clutched tightly at his hips, penned him against her, and he had to close his eyes the sensation was so blissful.

“I have missed you as well,” he replied, almost unable to respond he was so happy. Almost, because the moment wasn’t yet complete. “Come on,” he whispered to her, “There are people you need to meet.”

“Vincent?” Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

“They’re my friends. My family.” He smiled down at her. “They helped me so much, and they’re waiting to meet you.”

She stared up at him in wonder, and he was reminded of just how much he’d changed since they had last been embraced like this. Just six months ago, he never would’ve been capable of the smile that graced his face now. Bravery and excitement blazed in her eyes and she nodded and dropped one hand from his waist, sliding the other up to take his hand.

“Can you walk?” He asked.

She nodded again, stretching a leg out and rolling her ankle. “I think so.

“Are you ready?” She nodded, and he led her out into the sunlight.

* * *

Dinner was, as always, a chaotic affair. Tifa had wisely opted out of cooking, instead ordering a buffet’s amount of food from a local Wutainese restaurant. The bar was full of loud chattering and laughter and plates colliding with forks.

Vincent hardly had a chance to talk to Lucrecia again.

He knew it was likely after introducing her to the horde of people waiting for them outside. He’d felt almost like a teenager on a first date, trying to perceive the faintest notion of disapproval. Tifa had hugged her carefully and Marlene had stared up at her in wonder and not just a little bit of jealousy. Once aboard the _Highwind_ , Tifa thoughtfully helped her find a shower and a quiet cabin with a bed so she could rest on the flight back to Edge. She was so overwhelmed she hastily agreed, and Vincent wanted to trail after her, to try to savor some private time again, to just be near her, but refrained. He still couldn’t help glancing down the hall, every time he could, just to see if she’d risen again.

Then they’d arrived in Edge, and the party started, food and people and music from Tifa’s CD player in the background, and the atmosphere was so disordered and happy that he couldn’t think, couldn’t dwell on what might come. He just enjoyed himself, always staying where Lucrecia could see him, where he could see her. He stayed alert for the slightest sign of discomfort in her, but she began hesitantly chatting with Tifa and Yuffie – _oh gods, what could Yuffie be telling her?_ – and didn’t seem too unhappy with her current situation, so Vincent tried not to hover.

Besides, he had an attention-needy Marlene to deal with. She never left his side once they landed in Edge, always making sure she could just reach out and grab his cloak, forcing Barret to fetch food for her. She was currently sitting in Vincent’s lap as he talked to Cloud between bites, and when Cloud rose to get seconds as an excuse to gravitate to Tifa, she twisted to look up at him.

“She’s very pretty,” Marlene stated, noticing that Vincent’s gaze was once again on Lucrecia.

“She is,” Vincent said carefully, trying not to incite any further jealousy. “Do you like her?”

Marlene considered. “She’s very nice.” She put both of her little hands on his chest and leaned back to fully see his face. “Are you happy?”

_This girl, please don’t ever let her change._ “I am.”

“Then I like her.” It was a fact, and now that the conversation was over, Marlene returned her attention to her dinner.

He looked around the room. Barret was holding Colin like he would break and Shera and Cid were passing around the photos they recently had taken of the baby. Reeve and Nanaki were at the bar, Reeve heaping both their plates high with more food. Cloud was leaning against the wall, his hand affectionately resting on Tifa’s neck as he spoke to a smiling Denzel, Tifa laughing as Yuffie waved her arms around, an enthusiastic story-teller as always. Lucrecia was watching it all, smiling at Yuffie’s story, her face twisting at the sight of Colin, nodding to Tifa when she asked a question. She just looked so _right_ , sitting there enjoying the party thrown in her honor, and it made Vincent ache with joy.

Too quickly, the night ended. Tifa whisked Lucrecia away while he was helping with the clean-up and, while disappointed, he knew she needed the rest. He did too; he was exhausted and his nerves were shot from the excitement and tension of the day. As soon as he could, he escaped upstairs, shutting the door behind him with a soft _click_.

* * *

Hours later, Vincent was staring sleepless at the ceiling when there was a knock on his door. He sighed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. _Marlene._ Not that he minded the midnight call – Odin knew he could always use the reminder of her affection – but he was still processing the day’s altering events. He needed the time alone.

So he didn’t quite know how to feel when he opened the door not to Marlene, but to Lucrecia. “Lu…” He stammered. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Tifa’s shorts, looking much younger than he had ever seen her. “Come in.”

She nodded solemnly and glided past him without touching. She’d been in Cloud’s recently-vacated room, and Vincent hadn’t been able to help staring at the wall that separated the two of them. But they both needed the time and the space, and hadn’t touched since the emotional reunion in the grotto. Vincent had squeezed all his happiness back into that tight, restrictive ball in his chest as he’d attempted to sleep, afraid that her choosing to stay in his life was too much to hope for. She might take up her research again, or she might try to find living relatives. She might discover that Vincent and the people he had surrounded himself with were too painful of a reminder of her past, her son, or her villain of a husband. She very well might be gone by the morning, and letting himself fill up with her and then losing her again could be too much for him to bear.

She sat on his bed, legs dangling over the edge, and scooped up Choco to pick at his cotton feathers. Again, he was reminded of Marlene, the little savior, and how he never would have had the courage to face this moment had it not been for her faith in him. So he sat next to his long-lost love and leaned against the wall to prop a foot on the edge of the bed frame. He rested one arm across his bent knee and waited for her to speak.

She took her time gathering her thoughts, so long that when she spoke Vincent started. “I couldn’t sleep,” she began, her eyes locked on the stuffed bird as her fingers combed through the crest of feathers on his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about tomorrow.” He nodded, trying to steel himself for whatever came next. “Your friends are wonderful, they’re better than I could’ve ever imagined.” Her voice caught, and he knew she was thinking of Colin and her own little boy she never even got to hold. “But I can’t stay here forever. Not knowing… not knowing how much of their pain is my fault.” She pulled her knees up and lowered her face into them, so her next words were muffled. “Not knowing how much pain I caused you.” She lifted her face to look at him, and he couldn’t clearly see her expression. He was acutely aware of his bare chest, covered in the scars of Hojo’s making, criss-crossed with others created by fighting in a world of Sephiroth’s making first, then the clones’ and Deepground’s. How many scars were from her experiments to save him? He didn’t know. It was another life now, but one he was wrestling with all over again.

“I can’t go back to research,” she continued, “I can’t, not knowing how much evil and harm it can be warped to accomplish. I went into it thinking it was pure, uncorrupted. I was so wrong.” Her face dropped back to her knees, and she abandoned Choco to wrap her arms around them. “My Sephiroth, how did he…?”

Vincent’s heart skipped a beat, and he struggled to find the air to answer her. “He went fighting. But he went to the Lifestream.”

She was silent for several minutes. “You and your friends…?”

“Yes,” he barely managed, struggling with grief for her. She sucked in a shaky breath and clutched Choco again. He could see the sobs wracking through her, making her tremble with their force. He turned toward her, laying his good hand on her hair, at a loss on how to comfort her. “Lucrecia, Lu, I am so sorry. So sorry.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth again, running away from him. Gods, he couldn’t stand to hear her cry. “I tried, I wanted to…” It was impossible to form a complete thought. “I didn’t want to…”

“Vincent,” she said, raising her tear-stained face to his, “you saved him. Don’t be sorry.” She sniffled, face shuddering. “Thank you.”

He was aghast, but relieved. _Thank Odin, she knew why I did it._ But still, how could she thank him? He moved his hand from her hair, let it drop into his lap. She turned to face him, wiping at her cheeks with one hand. “You and your friends have been so good to me, you gave me back my life. But I feel so… lost. Like I don’t know how to live anymore. The world’s obviously changed so much and there’s so little I remember about it. The wind. The sound of laughter. The food. I can’t believe how much I ate at dinner.”

He cracked a faint smile. “You should try Tifa’s cooking. She’s exceptional.”

“She is, isn’t she? They all are.” Her eyes locked on his. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you smile.”

“It’s hard not to, today,” he told her, glad the tension was broken. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Her hands clutched at the stuffed bird, and she broke their gaze to look down at him. “Where did you get this thing?”

His smile became a full-fledged grin. “Marlene likes me to sleep with it.” He gazed down on Choco with affection. “She never gave up on me.”

Lucrecia straightened to look him full in the face. “And you never gave up on me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that; the air had gotten so thick with unspoken intention between them he found it hard to breathe. He’s forgotten what this felt like, the awkward courtship dance, especially since the last time he’d courted her it had ended so disastrously. She looked down again. “They really are your family, aren’t they?”

“They are. Every one of them.” _Even naïve Yuffie._

“I don’t want to get in the way of that, Vincent.” She stared past his shoulder as if the answers were written on the wall. The sound of his name from her mouth made his blood run hot and cold, and he still couldn’t guess what her eventual conclusion would be. “You’ve got a life, a family, and I don’t want to be the wedge that comes between you and them.”

He stared down at her unfathomable face, obscured in the darkness, the face he’d given up on ever having by his side again. How could she ever impede on his life? “No. You never could be.”

“Even with,” he could see her eyelashes fluttering in the moonlight as she blinked back tears again, “Even with everything I’ve done?” She shook her head. “They were so nice to me tonight, but that can’t last forever.”

“You’re always welcome in this house, Lu. Always. They don’t act this way to be polite. Today is what nearly every day is like.”

“Every day? The food and the people coming and going and the constant chatter? All of it?”

“All of it.”

“They don’t worry about the past?”

“No,” Vincent gave his head a faint shake, “They’re learning how to move on, like everyone else.”

“I just… It’s so hard to believe.” She stretched her legs out, pressing her toes into the side of his thigh. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. “It’s been so long since I’ve had friends…”

“You can stay here as long as you need to,” Vincent told her as gently as he could. “You can be a part of this family.”

“With you?” Her face was a map of emotion, her eyes burning but her mouth graced with a hopeful smile, tear tracks tracing both cheeks.

The bubble in his chest threatened to rise and burst. “With me. As long as you like.”

She leaned forward, putting her hand on his arm, and it was all he could do to not lean forward and kiss her again. “I haven’t ever forgotten.” He regarded her warily, unsure of what she was referring to. She dropped her eyes again. “That day on the hilltop. It’s… the last time I’ve ever felt good about something I’ve done.” She lowered her voice, uncertain. “Do you think you could make me feel that way again, Vincent?”

The bubble broke, and his wholes body felt consumed with flames. He could not move; it was too much. He’d merely hoped she would remain in his life, but as a lover? That was beyond his wildest expectations. “I think I could.” _Oh gods, oh gods._ “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, gazing up at him again. “I am.” She crawled into his lap, and his arms went around her automatically. She put her face into the crook of his neck and breathed, right against that spot behind his ear, and he thought he might die. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as she slid her hands down his bare sides, raising goosebumps wherever her fingertips went. Her lips fluttered all over his face, reciprocating from the morning. He had to close his eyes as he tightened his arms around her. He could have lost her so easily, forever, but instead she was here. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent, sunshine and soap and skin. “Make me feel alive, Vincent,” she whispered. “Please.”

He pulled back to gaze down at her. She looked up at him with no small amount of trepidation, naked want, and hope paletted across her face. _I will always harbor monsters, I can never change my past. But I can move forward. With this woman._ It always came back to her; her smile, her laugh, her touch, her eyes. It spun through him, the camaraderie, the roiling emotions, the constant challenges, all accumulating into this hopeful moment and it made him dizzy. _I can meet this fate._ “Of course,” he whispered back, and proceeded to do everything she asked.


End file.
